The Fall Of Doriath
by gamil-zirak
Summary: This story is about the events that led to the destruction of Doriath by the sons of Feanor. It shall also include the battle & the aftermath. Hope you enjoy it...
1. The Beginning Of The End

**THE FALL OF DORIATH **

**Foreword...  
This story is an attempt to write an account that broadens the version as told in the Silmarillion and I hope I've succeeded in giving a feasible story.  
I sincerely ask that those of you who read this story should not set it aside offhandedly as a work in which the author has lost his own voice in a vain attempt to emulate Tolkien's style. My goal is to write of an intriguing chapter in the history of the Silmarillion, and present it in a manner that adheres to my own preferences and sensibilities in the matter.  
If I've ultimately failed in the task, then I apologise. Yet I hope I shall not be overly penalised for the attempt.  
I touch on the reasons why I wrote in this manner in greater detail in my Author's Commentary at the end of this chapter.  
Thanx!**

**MELWEN is Sindarin for "Beloved"**

BOOK ONE THE DARK HORIZON

**Chapter One...  
"THE BEGINNING OF THE END"**

Now it has been told that Beren, son of Barahir, along with Luthien, daughter of Thingol and Melian, brought a Silmaril out of the depths of Angband and this was given to Thingol upon Beren's death. Yet Beren and Luthien returned beyond all thought and hope to Middle-earth and dwelt for a time in Tol Galen, the isle in the midst of the river Adurant that was the last of the six tributary rivers of the mighty Gelion. As the years passed, the thought of that great jewel weighed the heavier upon Thingol's mind for such was its power over him. The years also brought many strange and sorrowful things to pass: The Battle Of Unnumbered Tears; the coming of Turin son of Hurin to Menegroth; the ruin of Nargothrond and the demise of Glaurung the mighty worm and Turin himself. It was a year after his son's death that Hurin had come to Thingol's halls bearing another great jewel of renown. That was the Nauglamir (Necklace Of The Dwarves), made by the dwarves of Ered Luin for Finrod Felagund, Lord of Nargothrond, and it was the most renowned of all their works of beauty in the Elder Days.

After Hurin had departed, it came into Thingol's mind to have the Silmaril set within the Nauglamir and so join together the greatest works of elves and dwarves. He therefore summoned the dwarven smiths of Nogrod to achieve his vision, yet a perilous doom was laid upon the Silmaril and the Nauglamir was among the treasure cursed by Mim the dwarf. Dwarven curses are known to be potent, and the echo of Glaurung's evil dragon lust was also bound to the necklace, as he had lain long upon the hoard of Nargothrond. So it was that Thingol was slain deep within his own halls by the very dwarves he had commissioned to bring his vision into being.

This terrible deed led to that grievous battle between the dwarves of Nogrod and the elves of Doriath called the Dagor Dornoth, in which the dwarves won the day. However, their victory was short lived as their army was waylaid at Sarn Athrad by Beren and the Silvan elves of Ossiriand, and not one dwarf came ever back over the mountains to their city. Beren and the elves were victorious, and the Silmaril was recovered and taken to Tol Galen where Luthien wore it until her passing. It was sometime after the death of Thingol and the sack of Menegroth that Dior, son of Beren and Luthien, bade farewell to his father and mother and departed from Lanthir Lammath with Nimloth his wife, his young twin sons Elured and Elurin and his infant daughter Elwing. They journeyed to Doriath where the remnant of the Sindar welcomed them, and Dior set himself to raise anew the kingdom of Doriath.

He gathered there all he could find who now aimlessly wandered the great forests of Neldoreth and Region in sorrow and despair, with only the yearning memories of Doriath's past glory for their bitter comfort. He found more than were expected, for the dwarves had not slain Doriath's maidens and children, and there were still few companies of warriors who had escaped the rout of battle. All these were gathered again at Menegroth and there was begun a great work of restoring the _"Thousand Caves."_

Much had to be done, for the battle had wrought great destruction to the city's many fair halls and vast chambers. Yet the elves laboured with unwavering purpose under Dior's staunch will and unerring direction, and the restoration swiftly came to completion.  
Now it is said that time heals the wounds of both body and mind, as joyous songs and merry laughter were soon to be heard in the forests and halls of the land. Yet the Doriathrim's mirth was halting, as the grief of haunted memory was still near to their mending hearts. Many halls in Menegroth that were once filled with merry elven folk now stood empty, shrouded in solemn darkness as a grim testament to their dwindled numbers.

~oOo~

For Dior however, a grief long feared was visited upon him far sooner than he had hoped. There came a time of Autumn during Doriath's newfound tentative happiness, when a messenger bearing a coffer was received from Ossiriand. With hardly a word he laid it in Dior's hands, bowed low and took his leave.  
Hesitantly, Dior opened it and gasped in wonder, for therein lay the Silmaril within the Nauglamir!

Its chain was of mithril, shining with a glowing silver, and overlaid with a fabulous multitude of gemstones. There were oval rubies with hues of smouldering red that had flaming crimson hearts, and marquise-like sapphires whose watery colour mirrored the clear blue of a high summer sky. Pear-shaped emeralds glowed bright green, recalling the rustling sheen of the sprawling lawns of glorious Lorien in Valinor. And brightest were the round gems of amber and topaz, burning with a yellow fire that shone with the infant light of daybreak in newcome spring.

Amid the surrounding chain was a spiralling web of interlaced heart-shaped diamonds, sparkling in their transparency as their multi-faceted prisms refracted the light of the father jewel that lay at the web's centre...the Silmaril of Feanor. Its gold and silver light spread forth to the rest of the gems, penetrating them and emboldening their sheen to a richer tone. Yet the gemstones rainbow lustre twirled and danced within the overall glance of the Silmaril, for the joy of the jewel's living light encompassed them, and therefore gave life to the gems colourful hue, as a parent to its offspring.

Dior looked down with wide sight at the glowing jewel that filled all his chamber with its brilliance, and the grey of his eyes were lit with its sparkling reflection. Yet tears of grief were loosed from his brightened stare as falling glitter, for he knew that its coming to him was a sign that his father and mother had indeed died, and gone to that place beyond the circles of the world where go the race of men after their time of waiting. Arda had lost Luthien the Fair forever!  
Long did Dior sit there, grieving in mournful silence; now gazing at the shining jewel that was rescued by his father and mother from the iron pit of Angband; now closing the coffer and extinguishing the Silmaril's penetrating light in deep sorrow.

Remembrance came upon him of those two great people who had defied all the conceivable perils that were set against them. Those two whose ardent love could never be matched, nor would there ever be a love so blessed in the annals of the World, from its ancient making to its unknown end.  
Dior sighed. Could that son of men, gifted with traits of such noble courage, and sinews that had performed such deeds, along with that daughter of blessedness who was of glorious beauty, purity of heart, and of unequalled power in blissful song, truly have ceased to be? The sad thought made Dior's heavy heart ache all the more. For as he had lost his dear parents, so had Arda lost its two most beloved children.

So it was that Nimloth found him in his darkened chamber, still mourning in the deep of night. She stood awhile in silence by the doorway, watching his bowed form languishing in the dim room. It was lit by a single candle whose thin reddened flame wavered laboriously to hold at bay the surrounding gloom of night and mood. She perceived then that some sorrowful thing had befallen him.  
"What ails you my lord that you should sit so, seemingly bowed with grief and come not to retire?" she finally asked in a soft voice.

Dior slowly raised his head to face her and she started, seeing his trailing tears in the ruddy light. But he gestured to the coffer that lay closed upon his table.  
"Therein lies the cause of my sorrow Nimloth. Open it and see for yourself what has come to me!"

Fearfully, she took it up and with trembling hands, opened it. The dark of the chamber was suddenly thrust aside, and all shadows wavered and faded as the living light of the Silmaril was released. A gold and silver radiance, twisting and interweaving burst forth, encompassing all, and then slowly seemed to settle, embellishing the room with its dazzling hue. Yet about the gems of the Nauglamir sprang the whirlpool of their colours, spiralling outward in wondrous iridescence, with the bright gleam of the Silmaril flaming at its heart.

Nimloth looked about her, gasping in awe at the colourful display. She noted that a rich hue now permeated the air, so that all shapes seemed at once clear cut, as the furniture, the tapestries, the smooth walls and shining floor had been conceived on the very day of their making, without the blemish of time and use. Her widened eyes turned back to the necklace and she stood a moment, mesmerised by its impossible beauty, and wondered how such as this could fill her husband with apparent grief. Yet as she slowly turned her brightened gaze towards him, the enamouring spell of the jewel was broken, and a sudden realisation came upon her.

"It has come then," she said sorrowfully.

"Yes... it has come to me," replied Dior. "It no longer graces my mother's fair person, or brightens Tol Galen and the lands about. They are gone Nimloth, and I their son am now doomed never to see them again!"

She gently laid the coffer down and went to her husband, setting her slender arms about him. Her eyes closed, loosing rounded tears that gently rolled down her smooth cheeks in expressed sadness. She too had loved them well. The Silmaril's clarity softened, setting a tone of visual melancholy as if its gentle light momentarily mourned with the king and queen.

"To be sure my lord," said Nimloth after a quiet while, "it is hard and my heart grieves with yours. Yet it was a doom of sorrow long foreseen."

"Even so," said Dior, "that makes it none the easier to endure." He leaned back from her comforting embrace and looked into her glistening eyes. "They are gone _melwen_ and shall not return this time. Those twain who humbled the very might of Morgoth upon his throne! Those twain whom even death itself could not conquer!"

He sighed then with weary grief. "Nimloth, I am king, and yet have lived no longer than those of men who are deemed newly come to full manhood. I am as young in years as I am in kingly policy, and would have it that my father were yet living to counsel me from afar, as I would have the gentle knowledge that my fair mother still lived to grace this world. It grieves me deeply that they were granted too few years to enjoy the happiness they so richly deserved."

Nimloth nodded in sad agreement and slowly knelt before Dior, clasping both his hands in hers. "Indeed my husband," she said. "And all of true heart shall grieve with you. But do not fall to despair for you are far more than you know yourself to be. You are king of a great people, all of whom revere and love you. Do you not see what you have achieved? Doriath has been raised from ruin and its people are joyful again! Yet _you_ are the mover of all these things O wise lord and your people do not forget it!"

She then took up the open coffer and held it before her lord. The flaming arms of the Silmaril's heart rose through the rainbow spiral of the Nauglamir to caress his face with a hue that lit him to a heavenly vision of comeliness. Then Nimloth stared in silence. She had not thought it possible that the flame of Dior's beauty could ever burn the brighter. Tall and lithe of limb was he, with pale skin and long flowing raven-dark hair that fell in smooth waves about his broad shoulders. And he was indeed the son of his mother to look upon, as the very beauty of Luthien Tinuviel in the form of manhood was in his face. Yet in his grey eyes could one read the inheritance of the Edain that was in him. The courage, pride and hardihood of Beren Erchamion his father, of the house of Beor. She raised a hand to gently caress his cheek, losing herself to the wonder of his gaze. How blessed she felt to be loved by such as he. To be loved by Dior the "Beautiful".

Finally she spoke. "Now the great jewel has come to you, my lord. But rather than receiving it in sorrow, I would say receive it now _in hope_, as I deem your father and mother would have desired. Did we not witness the power of the Silmaril as it were worn by Luthien? How Dor Firn-i-Guinar became an unrivalled vision of light and beauty! It shall surely give added hope to your people, and aid in healing the wounds of your realm. And though Beren and Luthien are gone, let us take comfort that they have left you this legacy to be a memorial of their hope beyond hope that their love would be fulfilled. And so Dior Eluchil their son came into the world, and I Nimloth were thereafter blessed to become his wife!"

Dior gazed long at her and a faint smile lightened his face. Nimloth was indeed a beautiful queen, in appearance as in heart. She was a great lady of the royal house as she was the daughter of Galathil, son of Galadhon, son of Elmo, brother of Elwe (Thingol) Lord of Doriath. _Celebelleth_ was the title given to her by her people; The Silver Maiden of the house of Greymantle.

Dior now remembered their first meeting, when during his youth as he neared early manhood, he had journeyed to Menegroth where he dwelt for a year at the summons of Thingol and Melian, who had wished to see the son of Luthien, and heir to the throne. There had been great pomp and lavish ceremony upon his arrival, and all of Doriath had rejoiced in welcoming the young prince, Dior Eluchil, Thingol's Heir. Great had been his awe upon seeing the many wonders of Menegroth and the majesty of Thingol and Melian, his grandparents. Yet no fair hall or kingly seat was fit to compare to the loveliness of Nimloth, whom he had espied in the forest of Neldoreth whilst wondering alone during a lull in the festivities.

~oOo~

It had been on a time of twilight, that coloured the western horizon with the fading red hues of the last vestiges of Anar's fiery passage. The shadows of the land were blending with the coming night that promised to be bright, for Isil shone fully in the sky as a great white opal amid a darkening blanket set with twinkling diamonds. Dior had been walking alone, overwhelmed by the attentions and honours bestowed upon him by the peoples of Doriath. The noble lords and ladies and the great crowds had astounded his young mind, as he had only known his father and mother, and all but a few Silvan elves who seldom came to Tol Galen save at times when they sought to witness the beauty of Luthien, and listen to her blissful songs. Yet even then, they but came in small companies, as they did not love great concourse among themselves save at need.

But that early night he stole away from all the merriment, seeking a time of gentle peace and quiet solitude in the woods of Neldoreth. He had wandered aimlessly, following the flow of the Esgalduin as it ran south of the dark hill of Menegroth. Suddenly he stopped, startled, for shimmering white lights sprung up amid the high branches of the tall alder trees that bordered the river. He stood in wonder and even so, voices were raised in gentle song, filling the woodlands with their enchanting melodies. He sat himself down by the river bank, enjoying the blissful mood.  
The river passed by in gentle flow, its dark waters mirroring the wavering white lights in the trees and the distant silver flames in the heavens. He was then reminded of his home, as the singing of the Doriathrim was akin to the cherished pastime of the Silvan elves, whose fair voices could be heard far across the woods of Ossiriand.

He likened the peaceful river to the easy flow of the Adurant, whose waters encompassed the isle of Tol Galen that was as yet his home. However, Doriath had by far the greater beauty, for a potent sense of elvish bliss lay heavy upon the land. It were as if a discernible power of wellbeing lay in the earth, the waters and the airs of the realm that was not present in the outer lands beyond the Girdle of Melian. It was the undeniable power of the Silmaril, coupled with the potency of Melian's enchantments that heightened the blissful nature of Thingol's realm, turning it into a paradise within the mortal lands that lay beyond the blessed realm of Aman. Dior had wondered then whether he would ever leave Ossiriand and remove to Doriath as was suggested by many. Perhaps one day he would, he surmised.

Even as he thought this, a movement from across the river caught his eye, and his glance slowly widened with interest as he looked on. There appeared a maiden, tall and slender and clad in white. The glowing lights in the trees shone brightly upon her garments, amplifying her shining presence in stark contrast to the surrounding shadows of the deepening night. Her skin was pearl white, and her youthful face was beautiful. Yet her hair was of a rare hue of flowing silver, and fell in a glimmering cascade to her waist. It were as if the glowing sheen of the stars as reflected in the dark waters of the Esgalduin on a moonless night were somehow caught and enmeshed in her locks.

Dior could all but stare, taken aback by her delicate beauty. He thought he had witnessed all the wondrous sights of Doriath, but here was a jewel he had not yet seen. He watched in mesmerised silence as she knelt upon the greensward and began to sing softly to the contented night with a sweet voice. It were a song of awakening and rising; of growth and of blooming. Surely enough, the moonlit grass about her began to flower, and soon all the eastern bank had sprouted white petals, glowing with a soft dreamy hue. There grew that which all the Doriathrim revered; Niphredil the flowers of Luthien.

Dior swiftly rose to his feet, marvelling that his mother's flowers would heed the maidens call, and she looked up towards his sudden movement, startled by his presence. In that moment their eyes met and fate's purpose was fulfilled before an audience of white and silver fire under the dark canvas of a summer night. A smile had formed upon his face then, for he knew in his heart that he had, as his father years before had declared;  
_"Found what he sought not, but finding would possess forever!"  
TAKEN FROM THE SILMARILLION; CHAPTER 19 "OF BEREN AND LUTHIEN"_  
As if reading his thoughts, Nimloth had returned his smile. Their courtship thereafter had been swift, for such was the strength of feeling between them. Upon Dior's departure they had plighted their troth, and after a short time, Nimloth had followed her love to Dor Firn-i-Guinar, where they had become husband and wife.

Dior's thoughts now returned to the present, and his faint smile broadened to further lighten his countenance.  
"Indeed, joyful was the day I first laid eyes upon you, singing by the dark waters of the Esgalduin," he said softly, tenderly returning her caress.

Nimloth mirrored his smile. "And ever joyful is the memory of that day in my heart Dior Aranel! Now let us look to make this and all the days we have together full of happiness, for ourselves as well as our people. And in so doing, honour the memory of Beren and Luthien well!"

Dior looked down at the jewel as it now shone with a mirthful light, and the gems of the Nauglamir sparkled in glad reply. He could not deny its beauty. He raised his gaze to Nimloth's smiling eyes and opened his heart to the comfort of her hopeful words. When morning came he would face his people and reveal the return of the Silmaril to Menegroth, as well as the grievous news of Beren and Luthien's end.  
Indeed, it _was_ a doom of both joy and woe that were bequeathed to any who would keep a Silmaril of Feanor. Its coming to Doriath would be of no exception to that fate!

~oOo~

The Doriathrim woke to a glad morning when the summoning bells began to toll. Even as the elves hearkened to the ringing that echoed throughout the city's passageways, chambers and halls, the king's heralds came to them and bid all who could to make their way to the Menelrond, which was the great Hall of the Throne of Thingol. Now there were many places of congregation in Menegroth, but the Menelrond was by far the largest and the fairest. It was designated mostly for the nobles of the underground city, yet the heralds bid all, the higher and the lesser to come. Then many began to wonder what could be of such import as to warrant the open invitation, but the heralds bid them to set aside their questions as all would soon be revealed to them. Therefore, they came from all parts of Menegroth, mingling into a single-file that meandered along the main route to the great hall. Stewards gave curt nods to the crowds as they passed through the massive archways that led into the hall from its northern and southern ends.

Before them yawned a vast high arched roof that hovered far above their heads, and was upheld by two sets of pillars of shining stone. These were carved as the boles of beech trees that spread mighty arms at their summits, extending themselves as bracing arches to the hall's ceiling. Winding up their mammoth trunks in a spiral of set intervals were shining lanterns, whose golden light illuminated carven figures of birds that peered among the pillars branches. Forest animals too were depicted in stone, with taut haunches, sharp antlers and proud heads gleaming in the golden sheen.

In-between the pillar lines was a vast area of breathtaking ornamental beauty that took up almost half the hall. Spaced about it were tiered fountains, with circular and polygonal basins made of white marble in which were hewn fair water-side seats. Amid the basins were ornate columns that rose to sprout shimmering waters that fell in cascading curtains of silver. Other fountains contained marvellously carved animals, spouting water from their mouths, with hinds that upheld inner basins, at whose centres were richly carved figurines pouring jars of overflowing water back into the crystal-clear basins with delicious sound. The fountains waters and their statues and columns were lit from below by submerged crystalline stones that glowed with a watery silver light, and were made of the craft of Melian the Maiar. The run-offs from the fountains were in the form of shallow descending stairways, over which splashing flows skipped and churned down into broad channels cut into the floor in-between each basin. Bordering the artificial streams were soft turf patches of dark green, which in turn were bordered by fine oaken benches, gilded and cushioned with velvet.

There were many sheltered walkways, formed of intricately carved vines and creeping plants. These rested upon sturdy stone trellis-work, that criss-crossed the hall's floor between the lawns and fountains. Spacious grottos and cosy niches that were lavishly furnished for comfort, and softly lit by candles of scented wax were cut into the walls facing the ornamental garden. Its pathways were paved with many coloured stones that somewhat resembled the chequered surface of a chessboard. There were slabs of pale blue Turquoise mirroring rustling green Peridot. Opaque banded Malachite and the dark blue-violet of Iolite formed little arched bridges over the waterways, with hand-railings that were carved in the likeness of alder branches. The soft green of jade and the milky white iridescent sheen of moonstone ran across intersections in laid knots and pattern-work that charmed the eye. The western half of the hall broadened to a wide empty area that was paved with the gloss of Hematite that radiated a silver hue as it spanned before the dais of the king.

Here the hall's surface rose in three step-like tiers to a wide level of marble, where a lengthy carpet flowed down from the throne's base as a crimson path, to the foot of the dais where it met the hall's floor. Placed aside to the right of the red tongue was a long table, overlaid with fine green cloth upon which shining silverware was arrayed. Chairs with leather seats and gilded arms in the form of tree limbs were placed about it. That was the dining area of the lords of the realm. The red carpet rose again in three tiers to another level where an exquisite table was placed, overlooking the lords dining area. This table was overlaid with white silk that was embroidered with silver and laden with vessels and utensils of gold, and lavished with fruit and decked with garlands. Five seats of immaculate craftsmanship were placed at its sides. For this was where the king and queen with their family would dine.

The red carpet rose a final three steps to rest at the feet of the high seats of the king and queen. Both chairs were made of oak and were tall and intricately crafted in sensitive detail. Their wooden frames were covered in scroll-work and meandering traceries with fair elvish devices, and their legs and armrests were in the form of carven tree limbs with winding stems and leaves of silver. Of open grill-work were their tall cushioned backs, punctuated with rows of cusp-and-foil roundels that were carved between the uprights that supported steep canopies. However, the queen's canopy was in the form of a carven birch tree that seemed to half grow out of the wall behind, so that many of its silver branches and leaves were as wide spread tracings. Very beautiful were the thrones of Thingol and Melian that were now the seats of Doriath's new king and queen, Dior and Nimloth.

To the left of the dais was a guarded arched doorway that led to the Solar. Raised twenty feet above the floor, and carved into the northern wall that looked to the dais from the right, was the Minstrels Gallery where the king's musicians would perform. Its walls were draped in flowing red velvet, and bulging balustrades of white stone with great shining orbs upon the corner pedestals, formed the ornamental ledge. A doorway, situated at the very corner of the hall where its west wall met its northern side, opened to a flight of steps that led to the gallery.

Tapestries of intimate artistry, shining shields of unparalleled craftsmanship, and banners displaying colourful coats of arms, decorated the great hall's walls. Stepped Buffets of many tiers, and covered with rich drapes edged with silken frills also hung upon the walls, and displayed an array of exquisitely made treasures of adornment. Running along the walls beneath the oaken shelves were heavy ornate chests that were set upon sturdy legs, and beside these were long trestle tables, along with neatly stacked benches that were mainly used for banquets.

However, the real wonder of the Menelrond lay in its lighting, for its lofty arched ceiling was awash with a white gleam. The natural roof was overlaid with rock crystal, and in-between the layer splayed a radiance that shone through the transparent and colourless quartz with a light that challenged that of the sun that shone above ground. No tale tells of how Melian achieved this feat, yet she placed a power in that light so that the halls and chambers of Menegroth would come to life at dawn, mimicking the rising of the sun, and slowly dim to darkness at dusk and thereby give over to the natural glow of the realm's lamps, torches and candles. Of all her works in Middle-earth, the light of Menegroth was considered her finest by Doriath's people.

Now presently all were stood before the dais of the king, and the immense crowd fell silent and watched with anticipation as Dior brought out the coffer and held it before him.

"Elves of Doriath!" he cried. "You have all been summoned to witness that which signifies an eternal grief, and yet a hope beyond reckoning!"

The elves turned to one another with uncertain glances, questioning each other in low tones as to their king's proclamation. Yet Dior opened the coffer and held the Silmaril aloft for all to see, and it filled the great hall with a living light more glorious than that which Melian had devised for Menegroth. Now many who stood there had seen the Silmaril at such times as Thingol had worn it, and these now wept with joy upon seeing its return. Yet there were others who now saw the rumoured jewel for the first time and these gasped in wonder, for it seemed to them as if a star of Varda had been drawn down from the Ilmen, into their lord's outstretched hands.

"Behold!" cried Dior. "Here is the jewel that Beren and Luthien rescued from the deadly perils of Angband! Here also is the jewel that was coveted by the dwarves of Nogrod, who in their malice slew our king, and so attempted to destroy his realm! Yet they won it not from Thingol's people, but paid dearly for their folly and evil deeds!" Now more softly he said, "And here is the jewel which thereafter was worn by Luthien the Fair, who so became a vision of such beauty and loveliness, as fit to compare to a vision seen only in the ancient West of song!"

There he fell silent, overcome by grief, for he had dearly loved his mother. But the elves looked at each other with wonder upon their faces, as they did not yet understand the full meaning of the Silmaril's return.

"Now that jewel has come to me," Dior continued, urging himself on against his anguish, "and so signifies the end of Beren Erchamion, son of Barahir and Emeldir of the house of Beor. And of Luthien Tinuviel, daughter of Thingol Lord Of Beleriand and Melian the Maiar!"

A great hush fell across the great hall in a silence of utter disbelief. Only the gentle fall of cascading water from the hall's fountains could be heard. Even the chirping of the Nightingales that lived amid the carven branches was quietened.

"To my father, I say the memory of your courage and your great deeds shall be honoured, and never fade though time immeasurable should pass! To my mother, I say that ever shall your passing be a grief to elven-kind, for you are now forever lost to your people. Yet your beauty, your song, your love and sacrifice shall remain imperishable in our hearts memory, and endure in song and tale even to the appointed end and beyond!"

Dior fell silent again, and all heads in the hall were bowed. Then there rose the murmur of weeping maidens and lamenting elf lords as it finally dawned upon them that Beren and Luthien were no more. For many, this new grief now brought old half forgotten sorrows to the fore in their aching hearts, and many being overwhelmed, cast themselves to the ground in despair, though they stood within the very light of heaven.

Yet Dior took the Nauglamir and clasped the Silmaril to his neck, and behold! now he appeared as the fairest of all the Children of Iluvatar! All looked up at their king in amazement, for the rays of the jewel seemed to well through his body so that for a moment, he became as a figure imbued with white flame, with a flickering tongue of power upon his breast, and the very light of Aman reflected in his beautiful face. The gems upon the Crown of Doriath began to gleam as if lit by a growing inner radiance, and the silver of mithril of which the crown was made flashed in a sudden blaze of white fire, ordaining him anew with the kingship of Doriath.

Then the light of the Silmaril began to wax in brightness, and spread outward from Dior's person. As a bright star it had been, its light strong and yet contained. But now its brilliant radiance set forth, mingling with the Menelrond's illuminations and overwhelming them, reaching out to every shadowy corner of the vast hall in widening beams of living light that held the elves mesmerised in great wonder, as they basked in the glory of its power.

At once a change came upon all things caught within the Silmaril's glance, as a veil of shaded sight is lifted to reveal a newness of perception; a vibrant abundance of colour; a sharpness of clarity. Then, as if rejoicing in its release, the gold and silver light of the jewel sent a shower of glittering flame raining down upon the hall, momentarily embellishing all with a sparkling tint.  
Then all despair was cast away from that people, as the transcendent light of a descended star would cast aside the brooding shadows of the deepest dungeon, where unhappy prisoners that cower helplessly in the miserable dark are suddenly enheartened beyond all reason, to imagined aid that might be forthcoming.  
Hope was kindled in their hearts!

Then all that host cried out in one voice. "Hail Dior Eluchil! Now surely is Doriath risen to glory once more!"

"Indeed to witness an eternal grief I said," said Dior, "yet also a hope beyond reckoning! See now the power of the Silmaril has healed the sorrows of our hearts! So shall it heal the hurts of our land, fostering the growth and wellbeing of old that was lost to Doriath!"

He came forward now, to the very edge of the dais, and the great light that was about him shone upon his peoples upturned faces.

"Now hearken to me!" he said. "For this is a new beginning for us all as we are come out of the shadows, back into the light! And it is to be hoped that we shall long dwell within its wholesome power! However, let us know that though our hearts shall never forget our grievous loss, the holy jewel shall nevertheless serve as a memorial to those twain who won it in hope for themselves, and so sent it to Doriath in hope for us all! And I say to you with the foresight granted to me now, that whatever may betide after this blessed day, the fate of the Silmaril shall lead it even unto the heavens, where it shall remain a sign of hope to all of true heart in Middle-earth, though the darkness should rise to devour the world!"

As he said these words a change came upon him, for an even greater majesty was now revealed. Taller he looked, even like to Thingol his grandsire, and it seemed a potent power were now placed upon him. The noble hardihood of the fathers of men; the dignity and beauty of elves, and the reverential wisdom and power of the Maiar. He was indeed the heir to the throne of Doriath, now fully revealed before his people.

All bowed low before him and cried again in one voice. "Hail Dior Eluchil! Let the king now rule us in great glory and bliss!"

~oOo~

And so the Silmaril of Feanor resided once more in Doriath, and its power was felt again in the woods of Neldoreth and Region. For Dior always wore the jewel when he rode far and wide about his realm. Its holy light then healed the dreary mood of the forest that had taken hold since Melian's departure. Bright flowers blossomed about the lands in their multitudes, swaying on slender stems in the wonderfully scented airs of the land. The rivers flowed keen and clear, sparkling in the newfound light, and spoke once again with watery voices of dazzling enchantment. The forest animals began to thrive in the rejuvenated green woods, and birds sang in glad tones under clear skies that were lit by sun and jewel.

Festivals long celebrated yet lately abandoned were renewed, and the greenswards of Neldoreth were alive once again with the singing, the dancing, and the feasting of merry elves. At the time of midsummer, the king and his people would gather beneath the triple piers of Hirilorn, even as Thingol and Melian had done of old, and under the sprawling shade of the mightiest vault of leaf and bough in Neldoreth, there was great merriment. Thus led by Dior, Thingol's Heir, and with the aid of the Silmaril, Doriath indeed regained its glory of old, and its people were content.

Yet outside their realm word slowly spread like a meandering breeze that blows from a warm place out into the open wilderness, gathering strength yet growing evermore colder. So too were the ears that heard the tale of Doriath's rise from ruin. Wandering elves of the Sindar were first to hear the rumour and many forsook the now perilous wilderland and repaired to Menegroth, swelling its numbers. Yet soon word reached the cold ears of the people of Feanor, who in turn went to their lords and told them all they had heard.

Then the Oath of the sons of Feanor was waked again from sleep. Each tale of the light and joy brought to Doriath by the Silmaril, and of Dior the king riding hither and thither about his realm, wearing the jewel in his pride, stung their hearts. For the Feanorrim had become a wandering people who camped in the wilds of the south, cursing their hard fate in bitterness as they remembered their glory days of old. Therefore the six remaining princes of Feanor's house gathered again at Amon Ereb, where their greatest strength was held under Maedhros. There they took council with one another, while spies were sent ahead to learn the ways of the land. Soon messengers were sent out to Doriath to claim their own!

Now here must be told of a part of the Doriathrim who dwelt near the eastern eaves of Region, the mighty southern forest of the realm. They were a mingled folk of Sindarin elves of Beleriand who had fled the Dagor Bragollach and sought refuge with Thingol their overlord, and Nandorin elves who had removed there after the death of their lord Denethor, who was slain upon the hill of Amon Ereb. There also dwelt a few Sindarin elves of Doriath, who preferred the wide lands beneath the free airs to the stony underground halls of Menegroth.

There was a small forest that was sundered from the main wood by the river Aros that flowed from its source in the north near the pass of Aglon. Beneath the forest's eastern eaves flowed the Celon, that began in the northern hills around Himring where Maedhros once held his fortress before its fall. Southward, the Celon would meet with the Aros, and at their inflow was the beginning of that wood named Arthorien. This stood between those two converging rivers, spreading wider as the rivers drew apart to the north, until it became the sprawling land of Himlad that the sons of Feanor once held. From the eastern bank of the Celon, began the westmarches of Estolad, where a mingled people of the Three Houses of the Edain still dwelt.

Now there was a curious friendship between the Sindarin elves of Arthorien and the Edain of Estolad, and at that time the elves still journeyed to that land, giving what aid they could to the troubled remnant of men who were at times harassed by orcs that came down from the conquered north.  
So it was that one such elf journeyed alone to Estolad. Haldir was his name, and he was one of the Doriathrim who had taken special pity on Estolad's people, and so journeyed to that land more often than any other, as he was a master of healing and of great service to the beleaguered men.  
He had long been away from the Edain as he partook in the merry festivities of high summer in Doriath. Yet though all news of Estolad from recently returned elves was good, his heart had been moved of late to up and visit his friends. Of the urgency that compelled him, he did not know. But such was the growing doubt in his heart that he hastened from his home, crossed the Celon and proceeded eastward up the gently sloping lands that led away from the vale of the river.

It was late afternoon, and the westering sun was hot. Haldir stopped, took in a long drawn breath of clear air, and smiled with the simple pleasure of delighting in nature's grace. But when he turned his gaze eastward, his content faded, as the feeling of doubt returned to obscure his joy. What was this fear or worry that afflicted him? He sighed and took a step forward, but suddenly halted again.

A whistling wind blew down from the east, and with it came a sound that stopped Haldir in his tracks. He stood stock still, listening, and then he heard it again; a sound that could not be mistaken. Borne upon the breeze came the distant approach of galloping hooves. His gaze surveyed the eastern horizon as their pounding rumour grew in his ears. Then he saw them. Two distant silhouettes suddenly appearing over the lip of the horizon, stark against the clear blue of open sky. Haldir looked about him with growing unease but he was alone, and far from any friends. He shifted nervously where he stood as the two horsemen drew closer. They rode upon steeds of great stature, strong and clean-limbed, with brown coats, swishing tails and long dark manes. The riders themselves sat tall in their saddles, with free flowing raven-dark hair, and grey cloaks streaming behind in the sweeping winds of their approach.

They swiftly reached him and reined in their neighing horses, barring his way. Then the strangers sat silent for a moment, regarding him with sharp eyes. Haldir glanced warily at them, but said nothing under their hard stares. Finally one of the riders alighted from his horse, and strode forward to face him.

"You are an elf of Doriath are you not?" he asked in a stern voice.

"I am lord," replied Haldir in a clear tone that sought to belie his growing fearfulness.

"Then you are one of those whom we seek," said the stranger with a swift turn to his companion. He eyed Haldir a moment then asked, "Are we known to you, wood elf?"

Haldir studied the two elves with great interest. They were clad in plain attire that was travel-stained from seemingly long journeying, and their faces were very fair to behold, though the one who stood before him was fairer still. Haldir surmised that he looked upon elves of importance as they seemed stern and wilful, and there was a lordly air about them that they could not conceal. Indeed, by their appearance, their speech and bearing, Haldir concluded that they were high lords of the Noldor. However, he could not yet tell to which house they belonged.

"Well are we known to you or no?" asked the seated rider impatiently. His steed gave a snort, pounding the ground with its great hooves as if mirroring its master's hasty mood. Haldir dared not chance a guess, for fear of giving offence to the proud strangers.

"Forgive me my lords," he said. "I do not wish to offend, yet I am unaccustomed to meeting lords of other elven houses as I so take you, and therefore know not who you are. Long have I dwelt within the Girdle of Melian and never ventured far beyond our borders, even in the peaceful days of the Long Siege. News from without has always come faintly to those of the Doriathrim who give half an ear, and the little I know of the Golodhrim is through the many songs and tales of their great deeds against the Dark Power of the north. Yet songs and tales may only give names to unknown faces, and speak of matters far removed from the quiet of our woods."

"So it has always been with you elves of Doriath!" said the elf on horseback, regarding Haldir with hard eyes. "Cozened into idling and storytelling behind the power of Melian, whilst leaving the perilous deeds of war to the rest of us! Indeed I take offence that you know not the lords of those who aided the Sindar in their time of need, when Morgoth loosed his power over starlit Beleriand before the Sun and Moon!"

The elf who stood before Haldir raised a hand, checking his companion. "Nay!" he said with a swift shake of his head. "Blame not Doriath's people overmuch. Thingol's haughty mood towards the Noldor had him shun us all, save those of the house of Arafinwe. Yet being his loyal subjects, his people could only follow the mood of their lord. However, Thingol is dead and the Girdle is removed. Doriath's time apart from the rest of Beleriand is at an end and its people would do well to heed this!" The words of the stranger now surfaced a well of memories to Haldir's mind that spoke of a yearned past that sadly was no more.

"You speak gravely lord," he said solemnly, "for that may indeed be how it was with my people. Yet be that as it may, we of Doriath _heed well_ the end of our protected peace from the sorrows of the greater realm, having just borne the brunt of Fate's cruel blow ourselves."

The seated rider stirred in his saddle, his hard stare becoming darker still. "And perhaps it were a _good thing_ that you and your people finally felt the dint of battle at your own door, thus curbing the churlish pride and disdain of the Sindar of Doriath towards the Noldor, whom many ever blamed for stirring the evil of the north though it were ravaging your lands ere we came!"

Haldir stared at the rider in amazement at his grim words, but his companion swiftly intervened. "Peace my brother!" said the fair elf. "We are not yet come with harsh words to these folk, but are here only to deliver our message to their king."

Haldir started at that. _'They are brothers, come with a message for Dior our king!'_ he thought. His mind raced swiftly over the lords of the Noldor. They were not of Finarfin's house as all its princes were slain. Only Turgon yet lived of Fingolfin's sons, thus leaving the princes of the eldest house of Finwe.

Haldir blanched a little, yet chanced his guess. "Permit me to ask my lords, yet could it be that you are lords of the mighty house of Feanaro?"

A faint look of surprise passed over the fair elf's face. "Well guessed wood elf," he said. "I am Turcafinwe that is Celegorm in the Sindarin tongue, who was Lord of Himlad on a time."

Haldir bowed low before him. "Forgive my ignorance lord Celegorm, but the quaint life of the wood so blinded me. This is indeed a great honour!"

Celegorm laughed. "Then you are doubly honoured this day for I am also come with lord Curufin."

Haldir turned to Curufin and bowed again, yet he was filled with churning doubt. The coming of powerful lords of Feanor's house did not bode well for Doriath. The mood of these two sons of Feanor was known to all that people as their treacherous part in Luthien's tale was not forgotten. Moreover, their threat to Thingol over his keeping of the Silmaril was still fresh in the minds of the Doriathrim. Indeed, it was an unsaid fear in their hearts ever since the Silmaril had returned to their land, that the sons of Feanor could now make true their threat of war against Doriath, as the protection of the Girdle was no more. Haldir guessed that this was undoubtedly the purpose of their journeying, and the content of their message. A dark sense of foreboding crept into his heart, yet he hid his dismay and greeted them with as fair words as came to his mind.

"Indeed _I am_ doubly honoured this glad day to stand before such high lords of the Golodhrim! And I would say to my lord Curufin that though the mood of many of my people may be as he so put it, I for my part have ever held the Golodhrim in high honour and esteem for their valiant deeds and rendered service to the Edhel of Beleriand!"

Curufin said nothing but Celegorm smiled. "Well said wood elf. Yet who are you?"

"I am named Haldir, and dwell within the forest of Arthorien that lies between the rivers Aros and Celon." He pointed back to the western backdrop that looked to the distant vale of his woods.

"I see," said Celegorm, following the wood elf's gesture with his keen grey eyes. "Yet for one who claims to be so road shy in having hardly left the protection of the Girdle, we somehow find you far from home."

"That is true lord," Haldir steadily replied. "However, I was nearing my journey's end as I was on my way to Estolad, where a remnant of the Edain still dwell. It may be accounted a long journey on foot as you see me, yet not so far from my home by steed."

Haldir walked over to Celegorm's horse and raised a hand to pet its head. Yet the horse gave a reluctant snort, shook its great head and backed away a few paces. The wood elf slowly turned back to Celegorm, dismayed and a little embarrassed under stern eyes that momentarily lit up with distant amusement.

Haldir sighed. "Alas my people have only few horses to speak of, and therefore we have to make do on our own two legs. Yet do not think I deceived you lord, for Estolad is indeed the furthest I have ever ventured beyond the forests of my home."

"And what business would you have with the Edain who dwell there?" asked Celegorm.

"There has been a friendship between my folk and theirs that began soon after the main hosts of their people left for their later realms," answered Haldir.

"I find that hard to believe as your king's mood towards men was perhaps harsher than was towards us," said Celegorm.

"My lord Thingol's mood towards men was indeed unfriendly in those days," replied Haldir, "yet he saw our friendship as being harmless enough in his policies, and so let it be. But none of the Edain were ever permitted to pass the Girdle, even to our small forest. Be that as it may, our friendship grew closer still after Morgoth's power was loosed again upon the world. Throughout the perilous years, my folk have given aid and comfort to that people, and of late they in turn have comforted us in our own sorrows of the day."

Curufin scowled, alighted from his steed, and strode forward to stand before Haldir who took a fearful step back upon seeing the prince's black look.

"So you would deal with that _traitorous race_!" he said venomously. "Though it surprises me little, as you _dark elves_ are as lowly as the accursed race of men, and therefore suit each other well. Yet as if that were not enough, you would now claim our birthright in your insolence, and so gain an undeserved joy, happiness and strength from it while its true heirs suffer in the wilderness. Our realms are all but destroyed, and our people and lords are forced to live a simple life, bereft of all their power and glory of old through battles waged not only for the Noldor, but _all_ the free peoples of Beleriand!"

Curufin's flashing eyes now scornfully appraised Haldir from head to toe. "Answer me this O Sindar. Who instructed your wandering kin in their advancement from the rude ways of the wilderness to the noble customs of Aman? Yet know this dark elf! The ancient light that was there before Arien and Tilion rode the pathways of the sky does not belong to you and your people. A skill and labour far beyond the furthest reach of your thought went into preserving it! An Oath _beyond all oaths_ was sworn to claim it! And many a grim deed was done on the long road to retake it! You elves of Doriath do not fully comprehend your peril by withholding the Silmaril from we the sons of Feanaro!" He turned then to his brother. "Give him our message Turcafinwe and let him begone! We did not come all this way to exchange friendly banter with these elvish thieves!"

Celegorm produced a rolled up parchment, sealed by a wax stamp of the heraldic emblem of the house of Feanor.

"Receive this Haldir," he said as he handed it to the wood elf. "Herein lies the word of all the remaining sons of Feanaro, urging yet again the surrender of the Silmaril to the house of its maker. We are come to claim our own Haldir, and yet _mark you_, we are come in peace, hoping your king shall return what is ours to us in good faith. I see your dismay at my brother's harsh words, yet _take heed_, for he has much cause for his anger and grief. Our father left it to his sons to retrieve his great work. Should we now leave the Silmaril in the hands of yet another who would withhold it against his dying wish? Our Oath of old was not spoken lightly Haldir, but remains the very scion of the Noldor's grave choice in treading the long road to Middle-earth, forsaking even the blessed realm of Aman!

_Do you hear Haldir!_ This business of the Silmaril is well above the simple minds of the quaint forests of Doriath. Yet I would blame Thingol who named it, and Dior who now keeps it, for it is only by their grasping choices that the quiet of your woods is now threatened. I therefore implore you to go to your king and persuade him if you must to see clearly in this matter, as much shall rest upon his answer... for good or for ill. However, know that either way, the Silmaril is ours. Not only by our desire for our father's inimitable work, but of greater import it is by our _very right_ as his sons that we so claim it!"

Celegorm then paused for a moment, as if to regain his composure, for the light in his eyes had brightened as his own anger seemed to heighten with his words. Haldir looked at the two princes fearfully as it seemed that under their fair countenances was a perilous fey mood that would stop at nothing to regain their father's work.

"There!" said Celegorm as he seemingly mastered himself. "We have spoken, you have heard and now _you must go!_ However, be swift, for we shall await Dior's answer here!"

"Indeed make haste!" Curufin put in. "For you would not want to keep the sons of Feanaro waiting, or we may enter into Doriath _ourselves_ and unbidden, seek for what is ours as the way is now open to all!"

Haldir shuddered inwardly at the threat, yet bowed low before them. "My lords," he said. "I have indeed taken heed to all you have said and admit that these high policies are far above me. Yet what I fully grasp is that one war was enough for Doriath, which suffered so because of it. Far more grievous would it be for another to be waged against Thingol's realm, and evermore so were it now between _elf and elf_!"

Curufin looked at him with glinting eyes in the mounting dark. "And that came to pass once before dark elf as you well know. And _so shall again_, if we are refused a second time by the _Teleri!_ Yet you are overbold to berate the sons of Feanaro so! Swiftly would I have dealt with your insolence, had we not needed you to run our errand. Go now I tell you, and pray that your king shall be wise for his people, as well as himself!"

Haldir bowed again with great fear in his heart. "I shall deliver your message to Dior my king, and I pray that wisdom shall prevail for us all!"

With that, he turned away and began the long journey to Menegroth. The sons of Feanor stood silent as they watched Haldir's form fade into the twilight. Afar off, rising above the river valley, the forest line of Arthorien stood, crowned with the reddened sky of sunset that darkened as it merged with the starlit night overhead. There was the sound of approaching horses but the brothers did not stir. Soon ten riders had reined in beside them, and there they sat, silent; their fair elven faces grim to look upon. Yet their eyes shone in the mounting dark as they stared intently towards Doriath...

* * *

Author's Commentary:

Well, let me try to explain my take on the Fall of Doriath and why I wrote the things I did.  
Firstly, I'm trying to give what I would see as a feasible account of the events leading up to the final attack on Doriath. The inspiration behind my approach is the Unfinished Tales volume. In that book, Tolkien gives fairly detailed accounts of events barely touched in the Silmarillion.  
For instance, in the tale of Turin we are introduced to a host of characters and get far more descriptions and dialogue. So we come to know of Turin's childhood friendships with Sador and Nellas. How he joined the outlaws and his interactions with Androg and Mim. Who can forget the detailed account of Glaurung's demise and Nienor's suicide. What's revealed is very interesting and it really saddens the reader to know that had Tolkien taken the time, he could have written the Silmaril in such wonderful detail, producing a book that would have easily quadrupled the size of LOTR.  
What a book that would have been! After reading the Silmarillion, I'm afraid to say that I see the LOTR as being somewhat stale. All the great events took place during the summarised First Age, yet we have to make do with a detailed account of the Third Age where things are far tamer and wearied. But that's just my opinion.

Anyway, in reading The Unfinished Tales, one can only imagine what Tolkien's detailed take on say, the Nirnaeth Arnoediad would have been. Or his detailed description of Beren's horrific journey through Nan Dungortheb. Or his take on the various interesting speeches, friendships and alliances made during the Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reuniting. There's such a wealth of unexplored stories in his universe that he barely touched upon, that it's truly frustrating to even think about. All he left were enticing summaries and half finished works.  
Still, we must be thankful. Thankful for Fanfic that is, for what he left unfinished as our guide, we as Fanfic writers can only try to complete. We may never have his flair for language and classic writing, but we all attempt to give our own interpretations of events and hope we are as near to what the source would have thought and wanted.

So, I've chosen the Ruin of Doriath to be the tale that's open to my interpretation.  
Why? Well it's a story that has very little said about it in any of Tolkien's works, and yet is to my mind one of the most important events to take place in the First Age. The first time in Middle-earth and the second time in history that elves fought with elves.  
It always makes me chuckle when I think of what would have happened if the Silmarillion were never published. Can you imagine the flak a Fanfic writer would have suffered had he wrote a story of noble elves plotting to kill other noble elves, and actually going ahead with it! Purists from all over would have cried foul, deeming that the holier than thou elves as they are portrayed in LOTR, would have never conceived of committing such terrible acts. It would have been utterly impossible as thoughts of malice, treachery and hatred were not in elven nature. The adventurous writer would therefore have been roundly accused of seeking to demean Tolkien's high-minded idea of elves.  
Thank God for JRR's Silmarillion that would debunk all such purist myth and hail _unelf-like behaviour_ of that sort as undisputed canon. It says a lot about slash fic, for who knows where Tolkien's sensibilities might have taken him, had he somehow survived to our modern times. But that's another subject.

Now in tackling the Fall Of Doriath, where would one begin?  
For me, the tale of the (_Second_) fall of Doriath begins with Dior receiving the Silmaril from Ossiriand. In the summarised version in the Silmarillion, (which is the backbone of my tale), Dior receives the jewel from an unnamed lord of Ossiriand and stares at it in grief over his parents apparent death. I decided to add an intimate moment with Nimloth because it intros her important character to the tale and in such a moment of grief, she would be the fitting one to comfort her husband. Dior then shows the Silmaril to his people and tells them that Beren and Luthien are now really dead. That's the occasion I've used to have Dior put on the Nauglamir and appear as the fairest of all the Children of Iluvatar before his people.

In the process, the Silmaril shows its power by giving hope to his dismayed folk. I think it's feasible to portray the Silmaril in that light and not just as a mere jewel. Tolkien himself states in the Silmarillion that the jewels were indeed, living things. Being so means they could have had their own agenda in matters.  
So the Silmaril uses its power to somewhat enhance Dior, assigning to him a look of greater authority. At the time of this story, Dior was only about 36 years old, and though he was very noble (being the son of Luthien), with a firm will that had led the Doriathrim in the restoration of their realm, he would still have seemed a bit of a youngster or lightweight when compared to the great majesty of Thingol.  
The jewel therefore grants him the look he would have naturally achieved over many years of living, since in the oncoming months he shall have to become a bastion of hope to his beleaguered people. It seems better for the Doriathrim to be led in battle by a king who's reminiscent of Thingol's great stature and presence, than by one only newly come to manhood.

So here we see that the Silmaril already knows of the grim fate of Doriath and is kind of preparing the elves who shall have to defend it. It's in a sense using its great power to influence the Doriathrim to champion its cause as it can't go back to the Feanorrim. So its power installs hope in their hearts, from which comes courage and wisdom. Much more shall become apparent in the following chapters.  
The next part is of the sons of Feanor finding out that Dior now has their jewel and sending some elves to claim it. I made it Celegorm and Curufin because they have always been vehement in their pursuit of the jewels and they are inseparable in most of their endeavours. I don't think they would have entered into the great forests of Doriath, out of wariness. They know that once the reason behind their errand is known, it's not going to be to the Doriathrim's liking. They would have looked for preferably one of the Sindar to deliver their written request.

In this case it's Haldir of Arthorien. The whole idea behind the friendship between the Sindar of Arthorien and the Edain of Estolad is loosely based on the friendship between the Edain of Brethil and Beleg and the marchwardens who aid Halmir lord of The Haladin in battle against the orcs of Sauron. Just because Thingol didn't like men doesn't mean all his people shunned them. It's a prime example of the Doriathrim living in friendship with others, despite the Girdle and their king.  
When it comes to Haldir's meeting with the princes, Celegorm is naturally far more diplomatic than Curufin because, well, Curufin is more or less Feanor in the story since he was closest in all traits to his father. While I've always pictured Celegorm as being decent enough until you defy him in some way, scorn and disdain come naturally to Curufin whose mood has been described by Tolkien as perilous and crafty.

So there you have it. The first chapter to this story. Its mode is up close and personal in parts so it's going to be long, but I hope you will enjoy it for the full duration.

Dedicated to the wonderful world of Silmfic...


	2. Grave Messages

**THE FALL OF DORIATH**

**MELETH NIN is Sindarin for "My love".  
MELWEN is Sindarin for "Beloved".**

**Chapter Two...  
****"GRAVE MESSAGES"**

The dark of night threatened to descend prematurely as the palpable gloom of vast billowing clouds filled the dull skies over Doriath. Summer storms were not a rarity in Beleriand, yet what was brewing portended a harshness of purpose; a threatening will; a violent outburst of nature in response to a grave twist of fate.  
Haldir had trekked far and without rest since the dusk of yestereve, when he had left the sons of Feanor upon the slopes of Estolad. He had made his way swiftly through the forest of Region by narrow paths that cut across the lonely stretch of dense country from Arthorien, to join the main dwarf road that led to the very doors of Menegroth.

All through the night and day he had walked, only stopping once, and briefly, to revive himself by a stream. Yet his weariness came not of his physical ability as he was of the firstborn, who were tireless in labour when other races would falter. It was his disquietened mood that wore him down, for his heart was filled with a churning doubt and fearful urgency because of the grim errand he now found himself party to. He shuddered inwardly as he recollected his meeting with the two princes Celegorm and Curufin. All report of the hard and stern nature of the sons of Feanor did little justice to the truth, now that he had seen for himself how it was to be on the receiving end of their ire.

He began to question himself as to what would happen to the livelihood of the Doriathrim, now that the sons of Feanor had spoken. To what end would ensuing events lead in the matter? The Doriathrim had lived in relative peace while the rest of Beleriand was consumed by war about them. Yet of late the Sindar had known the meaning of conflict and death; sorrow and anguish; mourning and empty silence. However, beyond that grim ordeal had come hope and rebuilding, which in turn had led to faint smiles and warming hearts. Indeed the Doriathrim had come a long way; from dwelling in the innocence of unbounded peace, to becoming a people of wary wisdom that came of grim experience. Yet their respite had been too short. Already a raging storm of confrontation threatened their newfound joy, and nature itself now seemed to portend its potential evils with a violent outburst of its own.

All through the morning, towering clouds had gathered behind Haldir in the east. As the day waned they began to advance their grey ranks, darkening the sun's fading glare as it westered, and prematurely deepening the lands shadows. He had quickened his pace, hoping to outrun the coming downpour, but by the time of dusk, the skies above him hung dim and heavy, and a quiet lay over the forest as occurs before the wild ire of a wrathful storm is loosed upon the earth.  
The sighing of the brewing airs rose to an eerie howl, and the thick alder woods that pressed down upon either side of the road, creaked and groaned as their leaves shivered in the sweeping winds. The road began to rise from the flatlands to a high ridge that overlooked the sprawling vale of the Esgalduin, and the shadowy commotion of the trees came to an abrupt end as the road neared the ridge's summit. This was a high grey bald strip of craggy land that was strewn with rocks, stones and a few grey boulders all chipped and cracked.

Soon Haldir stood upon the crest of the ridge and drew his billowing cloak about him. The howling winds beat upon his ears as violent gusts swooped by, snatching browning alder leaves into its wailing airs. The blackened clouds above had long since overtaken him on their westward march, and the light of the sun faded beneath the horizon, leaving only a greying tint of narrow sky that harboured all but a few stars that twinkled mournfully at the earth, before the advancing clouds covered their failing radiance.

Haldir looked down upon the wide vista of gloom ridden forest that lay before him. The road cut into the slope of an ancient landslide, curving like a snake for two turns before disappearing under the dark leafy roof of a high shoulder of alders. It would lead down the incline for almost two miles to the eastern shore of the Esgalduin, where it crossed over a bridge to the forest of Neldoreth. Haldir looked back to the black wrath of the eastern sky and beheld a vast cloudy roof of churning anger. He turned his sight southward, and in the same instant a terrific bolt of lightening momentarily lit up the sky like noon, throwing up the grey dome of a stony hill in stark relief that rose above the dark sea of waving trees. That was the great mound of rock under which Menegroth was built, and where he was headed, still almost six miles away. Even as his eyes blinked at the sight, there came a rushing noise that rose above the din of thunder, heralding the storm's watery downpour that swiftly turned into a falling torrent.

Down leapt the wood elf as the rain swept over him, drenching all under its widening curtain. Swiftly he was under the trees, racing down the sloping road towards the first crossing of the Esgalduin that spanned its waters some five miles north of the Bridge of Menegroth. Water now dashed beside him, flowing down from the craggy heights as swift running brooks. The swaying overhang of the trees for the most part shielded him from the lashing rain, yet the violence of the winds at times thrust the avenue's roof aside and shed the storm's wet load upon him.  
The bridge suddenly loomed into view as he came flying round the last curve of the incline. Without pausing, he speedily made his way across it. Lightening flared, briefly illuminating its grey stone that seemed bare, desolate and sharply evident against the writhing confusion of the storm that raged about it. Thunder roared, the winds howled and sheets of hissing rain fell. Beneath the bridge's stone arches, the Esgalduin frothed and heaved; its shivering surface marred by the countless pock-marks of falling hail.

Up the far bank sped the wood elf, and after a quick mile he came to a branching junction. Here the road led on westward into the pouring gloom of Neldoreth, though it were somewhat narrowed. A left way maintained the dwarf road's broad importance and Haldir took this route, swerving into it in a swift dash. Tall creaking beech trees now rose upon either side of the highway that led dead straight for about two miles before turning left again, heading back towards the river at a gentle downward slope. The gale howled eerily about him as he came on and for a fleeting moment, it seemed to him that faint cries were mingled with the wind's harsh voice. Perhaps it were the fell voices of the raging heralds of the evil fate that now accompanied Haldir's grim tidings that would trouble the counsels of Doriath.

Ahead now, and through the mounting dark and torrential rain, his squinting eyes caught the rumoured white hue of lights. As he neared the crossing, he could see the falling trails of rain, blowing this way and that in the violent winds. The bordering thickets of trees suddenly gave way to the sprawling wet grasses of a greensward that rolled down to the western shore of the river. Beyond, rose the arching Bridge of Menegroth, whose structure shone hazily in the radiance of the silver orbs that were placed upon its supporting columns. Haldir raced down the greensward and over the bridge, his eyes catching the vague yet looming impression of the stony hill that now rose before him as a black mass above the fast approaching doors of Menegroth. He could barely see the great white columns and carven archway under which stood the entrance to the underground realm, and he shaded his eyes as he halted just short of the eastern bank, and slowly walked towards the great entrance, ignoring the pelting rain.

"Halt!" came a voice from out of the dark. Haldir stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes roving about nervously. Yet it was impossible to see anything with the irksome rain and glaring light blinding his sight.

"Who are you who comes before the Doors of Menegroth unannounced?"

"I am an elf of Artho...," but he was interrupted by an approaching shout from behind.

"Stop the intruder!" it called, and Haldir suddenly felt rough hands seize his own, pinning them to his back.

"It would seem a little late for that now," said the first voice. "How did he come to pass you by?"

"Alright, the blame is ours," came the reply. "Yet he came flying out of the dark as if borne upon the very wings of the storm. Before any of us could say aught, he had passed our guard, and my cries to him were lost to the gale. Yet I will cede that it was our lack of vigilance that had us caught out as we had left our posts to find shelter from the rain under the beeches."

"Indeed! It is as I thought," said the first. "But let us not continue the habit of lapsing in one's duty. We may live in a time of peace, yet it must be a _watchful peace_ all the same. The safety of the Girdle upon which we long relied is no more. Anyone, be he friend or foe can now enter into our realm unbidden. Take heed of that!"

"I understand," replied the second. "Pray pardon our misconduct," he implored.

"It is forgiven as no harm is done," said the first. There was a slight pause and a shadow revealed itself between Haldir's eyes and the light. "Now answer my question stranger. Who are you?" the voice continued, now embodied as a tall hooded silhouette.

"I am an elf of Arthorien, and I am come on an urgent errand to the king." said Haldir.

"What then is the purpose of your errand, and who sent you?" asked the guard.

"Please!" said Haldir with a little agitation. "Your apparent suspicion of strangers serves Doriath well in this time of watchful peace, no doubt. Yet you would serve the realm even better if you would at least see me out of this downpour as I am nearly soaked through, and yet have on me an important letter for the king."

There was another pause, and Haldir could feel the guards suspicious eyes curiously regarding him.

Finally the first said, "Very well! You seem harmless enough, though I have yet to know of the tidings you bring. Follow me therefore to our guardroom where a warm fire awaits. There you will answer my questions while you dry off."

The guard turned and walked forward to the great round oaken door that sealed a large cave-like opening. Haldir could barely make him out in the rain as he stood for a moment with his right palm held flat against its centre. The wood elf fancied he heard the guard mutter some softly spoken words, or an incantation maybe. Perhaps it was so, for the massive door soundlessly divided in the middle and swung inwards, revealing a well made tunnel of cavernous proportion. Its smooth sides were a shining white, upon which ornate golden traceries of marvellous design were spread. The sloping corridor was richly lit with fiery torches and silver lanterns that hung from the walls upon holders of gold cast that were made in the likeness of winding serpents with twinkling jewelled eyes.

Without turning, the guard motioned to Haldir. "Follow!" he said, and the wood elf was gently nudged forward by the guard behind him. They passed out of the rain, under the archway and through the doors. Haldir had reached Menegroth...

~oOo~

Dior sat now in his chamber as a king who is content with his kingdom, whose power is at rest, and whose people dwelt in gentle bliss. All seemed well, yet a flitting sense of unease had crept into his heart of late that was to him a faint chill in the warm sun, and a far off shadow upon a bright horizon. What it foreboded he could not yet fathom, but the unease of it grew in him as the days went by.  
However, he now had his family with him, and it were at joyful times such as these when the shadow would recede and give him peace for a while. Beside him sat Nimloth with their daughter Elwing cradled in her arms. Before him were his twin sons, playing at their child-like ease. He looked upon Elured and Elurin with great pride, for though they were young, being of eight summers, they were a wonder to all in Doriath as they were matured for their age, and both held the distant promise of becoming great lords of the Sindar.

Elured was the elder and like his mother in appearance. He was fair haired and wide eyed and was quiet of mood, being less apt to talk and seldom inclined to laughter. Yet it was his trait to listen to the speech of others, and afterwards searchingly question minds in a bid to understand purposes. Indeed, "Celeglhaw" _(Quick Ears)_ was a name given to him by many, though "Saelcund" (_Wise Prince_) was much used.

Elurin the younger was however like his father in appearance, being dark haired and fairer of face than his elder brother. His mood was more jovial, being swift in speech and quick to laughter. His young delight was in the knowledge of all things tutored to him, be it the long histories of Beleriand or the few tales of Aman that had come down to the Sindar through their Noldorin brethren, or Melian the Maiar. He was at times called "Baranauth" (_Eager Thought_) by those close to him, or "Maencund" (_Clever Prince_) by his tutors.

Yet Elwing the youngest was a child of the very likeness of Luthien Tinuviel, her foremother. She had graced the world for only three summers, yet already had the same long dark tresses, the same smile that brought joy to all who were bequeathed its pleasure, and the same dark beauty that promised to resemble that which only gifted elf minstrels could recall in glorious song. Indeed, the flame of Elwing's beauty as she wore the Silmaril at such times as Dior adorned her, was the wonder of all Doriath. It eased the peoples hearts to know that there was one who was of Luthien's beauty in female form, who still graced their land. She was therefore called "Luthieniell" (_Luthien's Daughter_) by most or "Bainrin" (_Beautiful Queen_).

Nimloth looked up from her daughter who lay asleep in her arms. She turned to Dior and observed him staring warmly at their sons. It pleased her to see him so, as his mood had been somewhat sullen of late, as if he were troubled in thought. Yet she had failed to see what could possibly worry him as all seemed well.

"_Meleth nin_," she said softly. "Of late you have not been yourself as something seems to trouble you. I thought you would sooner share your worry with me, yet you have not said aught. Therefore I would speak first and ask what ails you?"

Dior turned to his wife. "What would I say to you Nimloth? I cannot answer for I myself know not the reason for the persistent shadow that has afflicted me. Long have I pondered on what it might be, but I have neither dreamt of aught to warn me, nor has foresight been granted to guide me." He slowly shook his head as his face darkened with doubt. "Yet I do not know," he said in a low voice. "I almost fear for our continued bliss here in Doriath!"

Nimloth's face darkened too as she instinctively held Elwing closer, as if guarding her child from the imagined woes her husband now portended. Unease crept into her heart and she turned her troubled gaze to her sons, innocent and delighting in their play. A grave fear now arose in her for their safety but Dior saw her apparent distress and took her hand in a comforting gesture.

"Do not worry _melwen_," he said with a disarming smile. "It could be nothing but foolish fears. Our people and realm have never been better, and we are blessed with the wholesome power of the Silmaril in our midst. All shall be well!"

But Nimloth was far from comforted, for when he spoke of the Silmaril, a sharp chill passed over her heart that almost made her shudder. The thought now came to her that perhaps it were not so good that the jewel had returned to them. A growing dread now arose in her heart that whatever ill would come to Doriath, would be because of that work of Feanor.

"Indeed it is strange that you should feel so troubled when all is good under your reign," she said to her husband. "Yet I will admit to a chill that passed over my heart's happiness when you mentioned the Silmaril, and that troubles me all the more. However, I will not look too deeply into what that may yet mean to me, but I would take back my words to you when the jewel first came to us. _'Receive it now in hope,' _I said then, but woe be to us if the jewel has us pay for the light and joy it has so far given, by bringing darkness to Doriath once more!"  
Her words were grim and Dior sighed, noting that he would not have his usual peace of mind in the presence of his beloved family.

He was about to say more in a bid to soothe his wife's darkened mood when he saw Elured leave his play and come towards him. He turned back to Nimloth and saw her suppress her newfound fears with a forced smile at her son's approach. Soon the young prince stood before the king's chair with a questioning look upon his face.

"Father," he said. "I have been given many names, yet I would ask what Aranhil means as I am called that by many of our people?"

"You are the eldest of my children Elured," answered Dior with a smile, "and are therefore held to be the _'King's Heir'_ and next in line to the throne. But that title is not far from the meaning of the name I gave to you, which is '_Heir of Elu_'."

"Yet why should I be held as the next in line to the throne if you are already king?" Elured asked. He paused for a moment, then a sudden look of distress came over his young face. "Unless you are to leave us! Where are you going father?"

"I am not going anywhere my son," Dior replied. "At least not as far as I can see. Yet know that I too was named heir of Thingol, your great grandsire who is now gone."

Elured looked aside with his young brow creased in thoughtfulness. After a moment he turned away, apparently answered. But suddenly he halted and turned back to his father. "That is something I have always heard and yet wondered," he said. "For where did he go? I have heard people say in sadness that Thingol our long king is no more, and lord Haradion says our great grandsire has passed away. Yet he will say no more whenever I further question him as to what that means. Will you not tell me father? Did he tire of ruling Doriath and so left it to you? And if he did, where does he now live, and why does he not come to visit us, or we go to visit him?"

Dior looked at his son gravely. So it was with Saelcund who was ever prone to ask the searching questions that had no easy answers.

"To your first question I would say nay Elured, he did not tire of ruling Doriath. He was a mighty king who was revered and adored by all. He would never have tired from ruling the people he loved and the realm he cherished. Yet in answer to your second question I would say that it is true he still left us. For he passed on to his long home in the West. But know that once you are called hither, you cannot refuse the summons whether you would or no. And when you are gone you cannot come back, for it is very, very far away. And so are we also unable to visit him in return."

Elured remained silent, his eyes wide with a stare of distant contemplation, but Elurin, who had been listening in the wings, stepped forward.

"The West!" he said. "Lord Haradion has taught something of it to us. Is that not where the Great Powers of the world who are called the Valar dwell?"

"Indeed Baranauth," replied Dior, smiling at his son's eagerness to show his gained knowledge. "Yet they are not alone for many elves dwell with them, even those who are of our kin. That is the long home of _all_ the elves of Middle-earth."

"Then is that where the race of men also go father?" asked Elurin. "Is that where our beloved grandsire and grandam have gone?"

Dior realised that he was in for a hard grilling from both his sons and answered solemnly, "It is said there are also halls set aside for men, yet they tarry not for long within the circles of the world but soon take to ships, and cross the Sundering Seas that lie in the uttermost West. Where they sail to is not known, but this doom is said to be the gift of _'The One'_ to men: That the fullness of their fates be achieved elsewhere, outside the circles of Arda."

Here Elured broke his silence. "So is that where _we_ shall go if we are ever summoned, as I have heard of our kinship with the race of men?"

Dior gazed at his son for a moment, surprised by his grave question. He turned to Nimloth who sat beside him with downcast eyes. Seldom was she inclined to discuss that side of her husband and children's fate in Arda. It was a grave topic, as the grief of the feared outcome was too much for her to face and bear. Nimloth was of elven-kind whereas Dior and their children had mortal blood. Would Dior in time leave her a widow, and her children leave her in bereavement as they succumbed to their mortality? It was hoped the elven side of their being would prove to be the more potent, and therefore grant them the life of the Eldar. Yet how it would turn out in the end, none knew.

Dior turned back to Elured and answered truthfully. "Indeed my son, the blood of men flows in our veins. Yet if truth be told, I do not know under which kindred we shall be judged."

But Elured replied, "And if truth be told on my part, I do not ever want to go into the West, or over the Sundering Seas! Neither do I want you or any other that I love to go. I would have you refuse the summons and stay here in Doriath and always be king!"

Dior stared at Elured in wonder and disquiet. He turned to Nimloth who gazed at her son with a motherly look of concern. What grim mood had come over his first born that would out such talk.

Dior then answered gravely. "That is perhaps as Thingol, your great grandsire would have wished for himself also! Alas, he was not fated so, though long did he live and rule. Now I am king and am content as are my people...yet we know not what is fated ahead. However, even if it were so that I am doomed to swiftly pass away, it still gladdens my heart to know that you two sons of mine shall become the lords of our people."

He gave his sons a smile. "And," he added with a sidelong glance, "It is to be hoped that you shall rule with the same prudent wisdom that I see in your questioning. But come! Do not think overmuch of such things Elured, for your young mind should not be burdened by such grave matters. To bed now for it is late!"

Nimloth then stood and declared that she would relieve her maidens of their duty for the night, and put the children to bed herself. Dior kissed the brow of each of his sons, and Nimloth held Elwing close for him to kiss his sleeping daughter's cheek.

As they turned to leave, he blessed them saying, "May the Valar protect and bless you, and the morning lighten each of your hearts thoughts!"

Nimloth ushered their sons through the doorway and turned back to her husband. "We will soon continue our talk?" she asked.

"Indeed we shall." answered Dior with a gentle nod.

Nimloth bowed her head in courtesy. "My lord." she said in parting, and passed out of his chamber.

When they were gone, Dior sat back in his chair in deep thought. The mood of disquiet settled all the heavier upon him as the words of Elured returned to his mind. That a heavy mood should now come down even upon his young son further added to his foreboding. Yet all seemed well in his realm! Indeed, there was more joy and prosperity than ever before. Yet Nimloth's grim view and his own doubts had him think that perhaps the flame of the Silmaril burned too brightly in the land, blinding him and his people to the many perils that now crept outside his borders. He made a point to himself to give urgent thought to the defence of his realm as the Girdle was no more, and he knew there were enemies other than orcs who would see Doriath's destruction.

He turned to look about his chamber. That place was named Sam-uin-Ennin (_The Chamber of Birth_), and had been Thingol's private room that was set aside for his quiet contemplation. Lining the walls were oaken shelves brimming with books, documents and scrolls of a wide assortment. These were precious reams written by Thingol himself of his own lore, and much could be found there of his musings and purposes. It was a favoured pastime of Dior to read them, and so fathom somewhat the wise mind of his grandfather. He himself had begun to write of his own experiences as king and of his own lore, hoping that they would one day be of use to his sons and later descendants. His gaze rose to the great tapestries that hung in the chamber. There was one upon each wall to the left, right and front of him. These were woven by Melian herself, and depicted the most joyous moments of Thingol's long life.

Upon the right wall was a tapestry of an elf standing in a forest clearing that was surrounded by tall trees, and the night sky above was illuminated by a multitude of bright stars. However, the lustre of a stronger light was cast upon the earth and all about the glade, as the elf's face was lit by a vision at which he stared agape in wonder. Before him stood a tall lady, from whom emanated a silver radiance that cast its sheen all about the forest clearing. She was clad in a raiment of shining white, and her face was turned towards the elf, regarding him with bright eyes that smiled at the obvious wonder in his gaze. It seemed that she sang to him with outstretched arms, and about her were depicted many nightingales perched upon her shoulders and flitting about her head as they sang to her blissful enchantments. That was the birth of Thingol and Melian's love as it was of their ancient meeting deep within the enchanted forest of Nan Elmoth.

Hung upon the left wall were Thingol and Melian in a scene depicting the birth of their kingdom. They now stood in a forest clearing before a multitude of Telerin elves who had refused to forsake their lord and leave Middle-earth for the Blessed Realm. These would indeed become the Sindar of Eglador, which would in time be renamed Doriath. Now there was Thingol with his Maiar queen, and he himself transformed into the likeness of a Maiar lord, with hair shining grey silver and standing above all other heads as the tallest of all the Children of Iluvatar.

Dior then turned his gaze to the largest tapestry of the three that spanned the entire front wall from end to end, hanging above a great hearth that housed a bright fire. It showed a starlit sky that cast it's silver light over the forest tops of Neldoreth. Beneath the beech trees stood a mighty throng of elves, many of whom bore gifts while others bore musical instruments, and played to the crowds who were singing and dancing. At the centre of the merrymaking sat Thingol upon a great chair. His arms were held about Melian, who sat upon the grass at his feet. Yet all eyes in that picture were turned to the babe held in her arms. For there lay Luthien as she had just come into the world, and the green forest floor was dotted with the white flowers of Niphredil that first grew in that hour to greet her.

Dior smiled at the vivid memories of his mother that now surfaced. Her sweet songs to him as a babe; her tender care for him as a child; her wise instruction to him as a young man and her proud words for him as he came to full manhood. He sighed and turned again to the tapestry of Thingol and Melian as they were stood before their people.

"Much have I done to preserve your ancient realm O Thingol Lord of Beleriand," he said softly. "So shall it remain, unless an evil greater than our strength should come to destroy us!"

Even as he said these words, there came a knock at his door. "Enter!" said Dior.

Authir his doorwarden entered and bowed. "My lord. One has come who says he has journeyed from Arthorien bearing a message of great import."

"Well, what of it?" asked the king.

"I do not know my lord," replied Authir. "All he would say when questioned was that what pertained to the message was for the lord of Doriath's eyes and ears alone. However, he respectfully requested that you not delay to see him, as those that sent him yet awaited your answer."

At that, the feeling of foreboding waxed the heavier in Dior's heart, and it seemed to him that a doom long feared were now to be visited upon him and his realm.

"I will see him," he said after a moments thought. "And when he is come, I do not want us to be disturbed!"

Authir bowed and exited the chamber. Presently there came a soft knock upon the oaken doors. "Come!" said the king in reply.

The door opened slightly and a timid voice came through. "My lord, I beg leave to enter into the presence of your grace!" it said.

"That has already been granted and you but delay my audience," said the king. "Enter now so that I may see you!"

The door widened and an elf haltingly entered as one fearful and full of awe in the presence of his lord and liege. He fell to one knee and for a moment, was silent, with his head bowed under the king's stern gaze. Yet finally he sought courage and raised his eyes.

"My lord, I am named Haldir, son of Falathar, and belong to those of your people who dwell in the forest of Arthorien that lies upon the eastern borders of your land."

Dior regarded the elf with curiosity, for the stranger was dressed as a guard of the First Hall. "If you are from Arthorien, why do you wear the livery of my guard?" he asked.

The wood elf lowered his eyes again. "I but borrowed the attire my lord, for my own clothes were soaked through as I was caught in the storm that now rages above ground. However, if it displeases the king, I shall change immediately. Yet I respectfully ask that my lord blames not his guards who only permitted this out of duty, as I convinced them of the import of my errand, that could not wait for my clothes to dry."

A light smile passed over Dior's face, and his stern expression softened. "Well if your errand cannot wait for drying clothes, then you shall be a guard of the First Hall... for tonight only." He raised a hand and gestured Haldir to a chair. "I therefore welcome you to Menegroth, son of Falathar. Rise now and sit with me. Indeed it is seldom that we should see one of our folk from Arthorien grace our halls."

"I am deeply honoured my lord," said Haldir as he sat down before Dior, greatly warmed by the king's gracious words.

"I am also aware of the friendship that lies between your folk and the men of Estolad," said Dior. "Therefore the honour is mine that I should meet with one of the Doriathrim who has aided the race of my father and his kin. How goes it with the Edain who dwell there? Of late my mind has turned to that land, and I have thought to bring its people into the greater protection of our forests."

"Their plight is worse than before my lord," replied Haldir, slowly shaking his head, "as is all else in Beleriand with the waning of the years. Yet they still defend that ancient land of their fathers, though the enemy roams at will about their lands, doing harm at every ill chance. Indeed we elves marvel at their hardihood, and aid them whenever chance permits. But now the Estoladrim are few, for many have been slain over the years, and more fled to their kin in distant lands. However, those who were boldest among them remained, and their sons are become bolder than their fathers. Yet it is because of this that I would say that though the notion of bringing Estolad's people into the protection of the wood is wise and merciful, they would refuse such favour."

The king frowned. "And why pray tell would any refuse safer harbouring from the perils of Morgoth?"

"Why indeed my lord," said Haldir solemnly; his tongue loosened by the king's ease with him. "Yet I speak with some authority in this. For many times have my folk and I tried to convince them to seek admittance into Doriath from your grace. But their valour has also made them a proud people who refuse wise counsel to trusting rather to their strength in arms. However, I would say they are _admirably_ proud, for there are none among them who would now forsake the eldest realm of all the three houses of the Edain in Beleriand. They would endure all hardships and fight to the bitter end, when the Dark Power should surely sweep them all away. They fill me and my folk with pity, for they are dear to us and we would only wish for what is best for their wellbeing!"

Dior was troubled by the news. The realms of the elf-friends were all but destroyed. Dorthonion, the land of the House of Beor had fallen after the Dagor Bragollach, whilst Dor-Lomin, of the House of Malach and Hador had ended with the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Only the gleanings of those two Houses were now joined with the Haladin of Brethil. Estolad was the only other realm of the Edain to survive the onslaught of Morgoth, and therefore all the more grievous for the race of men, were it to fall to the enemy.

Finally he said, "Alas! Now I join you in that concern and pity, for I would also have the Estoladrim as safe as I could make them." After another moments pause, he sighed. "Well, things will go as they will," he said. "When chance permits I shall send an envoy to try and persuade them to remove to our safer lands encompassed by our great forests. Yet until then I would not have us give up hope, but rather continue to aid them in all we can until such time as they find it in themselves to humble their pride and accept our counsel."

Haldir stood and bowed low before the king. 'Not for naught is the king named Aranel, _The Noble Elf_,' he thought to himself. 'Blessed is Doriath to have so fitting an heir to Thingol as is this wise son of Luthien.'

"It shall be done my lord!" he said aloud, his heart high with renewed hope for his friends.

"Now," said Dior, "we move on to matters of greater import, for I believe you are come on an urgent errand."

At that, a troubled look came over Haldir's face and he slowly retook his seat; his joy extinguished by the descending shadow of doubt that came of the tidings he was now asked to share.

"What now ails you Haldir?" asked Dior, perceiving his sudden change of mood. "Why the look of dismay at my mere mentioning of the reason you are here?"

Haldir remained silent, sitting with his head bowed. It was at that moment, more than any other, that he loathed his part in the grave matters of the Silmaril.

"Is the true purpose of your coming so not to your liking that you would now repent of it?" asked the king. "Come! What is this message of request that demands my urgent answer? I bid you! Say all that you would to me!"

Haldir slowly raised his head in answer to Dior's command. "Forgive me O king, and pardon the impertinence of my silence! Yet loath am I to deliver that for which I was sent, as it shall serve only to add to your concerns, and may in time become a grief to all your people!"

The king's stern gaze returned. "Those are grave words son of Falathar," he said, slowly leaning forward. "Who sent you hither, bearing tidings of such ill omen for me and my people?"

Haldir had no choice. He had to speak! He was commanded to speak! "My lord, the message I bear comes from the sons of Feanaro!"

"The _sons of Feanaro_ you say!" said Dior, leaning back in his chair as his fears were realised. Haldir did not reply, but sat with downcast eyes. An ominous silence descended upon the chamber.

The king now thought to himself, 'So the doom of Doriath now comes to the final point as I have long feared! They are come to claim their own no doubt. Yet shall it be the Silmaril's fate to return to their house? Or if it be otherwise, should the Doriathrim hope to withstand the wrath of Feanaro's sons and prevail?'  
Finally he sighed and said aloud, "Alas that this grief should come so soon to disturb the newfound peace of Doriath!"

But Haldir, being deeply moved by his king's sorrow said, "Alas that it should be the son of Falathar who bears this new grief to his lord! May the king forgive him!"

Yet Dior shook his head. "Nay! No blame is laid upon you, for you are but the faultless bearer of these ill tidings. It is also news long foreseen. For how long could we of Doriath truly have hoped to retain the jewel without any word from the sons of Feanaro? Nay! This doom was wrought the very day the Silmaril was delivered to me!" He sighed. "Now come Haldir! Tell me of your meeting with those who sent you on their errand to Dior of Doriath!"

Then Haldir related to the king all that was said between him and the two princes Celegorm and Curufin. When he was done, the king asked to be handed the message. Haldir produced the rolled up parchment, and placed it in his waiting hand.  
Dior opened it and read...

_Amon Ereb, Year 506 of the Sun._

_To Dior, Lord Of Doriath.  
News has reached our ears that a Silmaril of our father burns in the woods of your realm. Now our claim over the Silmarils that is bound by our Oath of old is known to all in Beleriand. An Oath that none can take, or break, and is binding to the very end of the world and should call the everlasting dark upon he who keeps it not! Of such gravity do we hold this matter O Lord of Doriath, for which we named Manwe and Varda and the very mount of Taniquetil upon which they dwell, to bear witness!_

_Our vow remains thus...  
"To pursue with vengeance and hatred to the very ends of the world, Vala, demon of Morgoth, elf, man or any creature good or evil who should so hold, take or keep a Silmaril from our possession!"  
This we vowed in the name of Iluvatar himself! Thus is our Oath written in the tale of the world._

_Now it has come to us that you keep the Silmaril that was rescued by your father and mother from the Iron Crown of Angband. We have heard how you have used its power, healing the hurts of your people and land with its light, bringing joy back to your realm. Now we do not begrudge you your good fortune, as all that is well done by the Silmaril is also a joy to us. However, the time has come to return it to its true heirs who have waited patiently in the dark for it. You have read the words of our grave Oath for yourself. Yet we would have you know that we have not carried out its harsh edicts in mercy, leaving you awhile to raise again your kingdom in peace.  
Thus we have honoured those whose great deeds won the jewel from the enemy. Therefore let it not be said that the sons of Feanaro are proud and unyielding in all their dealings with the Silmarils, for we have shown great restraint and understanding in this.  
Yet we also have need of our father's work as we have many hurts that need to be healed, as we are also compelled by our Oath and our father's dying wish._

_Therefore we ask you Dior Eluchil, Lord of Doriath, in all devotion to your wisdom, that you surrender the Silmaril to the house of Feanaro, and so lay to rest our Oath, as well as to give hope for us to raise anew the glory of the Noldor in Beleriand._

_We await your answer in earnest...  
The six sons of Feanaro,  
Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin and Amrod._

The king looked up from the letter, his face thoughtful as he pondered on all he had read. Haldir looked to the king expectantly.

Dior finally turned to him. "When did you receive this?"

"It were yester-eve when I received it my lord," replied Haldir.

"Then you have travelled far, seventy miles and more through the night with no rest!" said the king. "I therefore thank you son of Falathar, and bid you rest now for you must be weary. A council shall be held tomorrow of which you may be summoned. Till then I bid you, tell no one of this matter!"

Haldir stood and bowed once again. "I shall do as you wish my lord," he said.

Dior called out to his doorwarden. "See to it that this good elf receives the best of food and lodging while he stays with us."

Authir bowed and led Haldir away. Dior then turned once more to the tapestry of Thingol and Melian as they stood before their people.

"Unless an evil greater than our strength should come to destroy us!" he said softly.

* * *

Author's Commentary:

In this second chapter we jump back to Menegroth with Dior feeling uneasy.  
Tolkien liked the idea of foreboding and foretelling. As a wise king who is imbued with the Silmaril's power, Dior would certainly have felt the approach of peril, though he's not quite sure what the danger is. His mood here can be likened to Idril, Turgon's daughter, whose heart misgave her at the approach of the doom of Gondolin. I also wanted a scene with Dior and his family as I've always wondered what Nimloth and his twin sons were like. It's a kind of a poignant moment for them, as Dior, his wife and even his child, all kind of foretell their grim futures.

The next part is Haldir's conversation with Dior and his handing over the message.  
I felt there would have been talk on the Edain of Estolad as Dior would have been interested since he was part mortal. With many Sindarin elves flocking to his realm, not to mention Dior's own connection to the race of men, I don't think it far-fetched to have him think of even inviting the Edain to stay within the greater protection of Doriath.  
Yet I've always pictured the Edain to be valiantly proud, especially those from the eldest realm of men in Beleriand. They wouldn't have wanted to be subject to elvish laws, as they might have had they moved. Their proud stance is reminiscent of Barahir and his twelve companions who would not yield though they had lost everything. There is also the fateful decision by the Men of Dor-Lomin in their last stand in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. They did not wish in their hearts to leave the North-lands if they could not win back their homes. The Edain of Estolad would have certainly felt the same, though they were no doubt grateful for the elvish help they received.

After the initial talk, the true purpose of Haldir's coming is revealed and Dior reads the message.  
My take on the letter is that the sons of Feanor, though grim, would have at that time been less proud than before. Fate hadn't been kind to them for they had lost the great war and with it, many of their people. Their ensuing life of wandering in Ossiriand would have been somewhat humbling. So instead of the harsh wording they gave to Thingol before, they would now try to be diplomatic at the least, not overly emphasizing the threatening nature of their Oath, but showing uncharacteristic leniency and quietly honouring Beren and Luthien's great deed that won the jewel. This would have been a genuine sentiment as well as an attempt to coddle the Sindar into surrendering their jewel.

I think it makes the story more interesting, by not portraying the sons of Feanor as outright jerks or evil elves. But more on that later. After reading the letter, we see Dior make up his mind to have a council with which to discuss the matter with his lords. But that comes in the next chapter!


	3. The Council Of Dior

**THE FALL OF DORIATH**

**Chapter Three...  
****"THE COUNCIL OF DIOR"**

The next morning the king summoned all the lords of the land to council.  
Their came Tuornen, Aradir and Araneg (the chief loremaster), who were all that remained of Thingol's counsellors who had survived the Dagor Dornoth (Battle With The Dwarves).

There also came Estannen, who was chief of the greatest host of Sindar who had repaired to Menegroth after its renewal.

So too came Ellonui and Banion (the fair), who were the sons of former lords who had perished in the Dagor Dornoth.

Tirithalui also was summoned, whom of old had served under Mablung (of the Heavy Hand) and was now chief captain of the king.

Also present was Pinadar (the father of many), a great lord who had walked with the host of Teleri from Cuivienen and had at that time been very close to Thingol in friendship. It were he and Elmo, Thingol's brother, who had led the host of Teleri who had refused to leave Middle-earth forsaking their lord. When Thingol had finally returned to his people and founded the kingdom of Doriath, Pinadar had become his closest counsellor. He it was, who held the remnant of the Doriathrim together after the departure of Melian and the dwarf battle, and was now held as chief counsellor to the king as he was very wise and far-sighted.

Present too was Haradion, who was a Silvan elf of Ossiriand. Of old he had been one of those sent by Denethor to Doriath, to learn from Melian all that might benefit his people in raising them from their somewhat rustic knowledge, to that of high wisdom. These Nandorin elves became wise in lore under her tutelage, yet some of them remained in Menegroth and did not return to Ossiriand, of whom Saeros was one whom after became a great counsellor to Thingol. However, Haradion had returned to his people, who in turn had benefited from his teachings.

After Denethor's death, he became a great chieftain who had later befriended Beren in Tol Galen. Thus Dior had grown under much of Haradion's tutelage at the request of his father, who had wished his son be taught the elvish ways of his heritage by one of great knowledge and wisdom. So great was the love that grew between them, that when Dior asked Haradion to repair with him to Doriath, the elflord did not refuse him. Now he dwelt in Menegroth as Dior's closest and most trusted advisor, as well as being tutor to the king's children.

Finally there came Faelir, whose name was Failo in the Noldorin tongue. He was a lord of the house of Finarfin, whom along with others had escaped the sack of Nargothrond, and survived the Fell Winter that had come thereafter. In their despair, they had sought admittance into Doriath which was granted by Thingol since they were a people in utter need, and subjects of Felagund his beloved kinsman. It were they who had brought the tidings of Nargothrond's fall to Doriath, and it were they who also declared to all the true identity of the Mormegil to be Turin son of Hurin of Dor-lomin.

They had lived alongside their Sindarin brethren in peace, and grudged not Thingol's possession of the Silmaril. For their hearts neither forgot nor forgave the part played by the sons of Feanor in the sorrowful death of Felagund their lord. Thus Faelir and his people were held in high favour by nigh all the Doriathrim, as they had great skill and knowledge in many things, and taught and aided the Grey Elves freely in gratitude for safe harbouring, as well as in the sheer delight of enlightening eager kin.

So it was that all these lords were assembled in the council chamber, and looked to their king with questioning eyes.  
The chamber had at its centre a wide table of smooth white marble, surrounded by many chairs of black leather. The walls were also white, upon which hung tapestries that depicted many things shown to the wisdom of Melian. Some were remote and obscure to the eye and mind as they were of the far past, before the awakening of elves. Others were of the deeds of the Eldar in Beleriand, during the long Age of Stars. There were also a few that depicted the rumour of the future, as shown to the inner sight of the Maiar queen.

Stone traceries of vine-like stems framed the tapestries and meandered across the walls and over the ceiling. Against the chamber's walls were beautifully crafted oaken book-shelves that were filled with the ancient lore of the Sindar in Beleriand. Much there had been written by Daeron, that loremaster of old who was now grievously lost to his people. Others such as the lords Pinadar and Araneg also had many contributions. In that collection were priceless records of the starlight years of peace. But all are now lost.  
Great double-doors formed the gateway to the chamber, and two carven beech trees stood upon either side of the entrance as stone sentinels. Their grey limbs that faced each other intertwined above the doors, forming an arch of intricately detailed twisting branches. Indeed, fair was the hall of Sam-uin-Gur.

Dior stood at the table's head and brought forth the coffer that held the Silmaril within. He then laid it on the table in front of him.

"I have gathered you all for a grave purpose," he began. "Yester-eve an elf from Arthorien came to Menegroth bearing a message from our eastern borders. That message came from the Sons of Feanaro!"

At that, the lords all turned to each other, looking ill at ease. Dior handed the parchment to Pinadar who sat to his left. Soon it had been read by all and passed back to the king from Haradion, who was to his right.

All sat awhile in a contemplative silence that was finally broken by the king. "This is a matter of such grave import that I deemed I could not answer it alone. For it is an answer that shall pronounce the doomed fate of Doriath, of which I would have the say of all the lords of my realm. However, I would first have you hear the tale of the one who brought this message."

He made a sign to Authir who stood by the chamber doors, and when these were opened, in came Haldir, who hesitated before the great lords of the land. Dior smiled. "Come forward son of Falathar," he said softly. "Do not be afraid! I bid you, tell the lords of Doriath of your meeting with the sons of Feanaro, so they may have a better understanding of matters."

Then Haldir came forward and recounted his meeting with Celegorm and Curufin. When he was done, he was seated in a chair apart, and the lords thoroughly questioned him as the king sat silent, listening intently to what was said. When they had asked all they could, they spoke among themselves in low voices, and then fell silent, each seemingly reluctant to voice his opinion.

"Come now!" said the king after a while. "Office was not bestowed upon you to sit silent in council whilst I crave your opinions and advice! What say you in this matter?"

Then lord Araneg stood. He was the chief loremaster in Menegroth, being as deep in wisdom as he was long in memory. Ever he spoke with wary counsel, seeking rather for peaceful outcomes than for deeds that led to confrontation.

"My lord!" he began. "As you have said, this is indeed a grave matter, and one which we have long feared. Yet we now come to it as the sons of Feanaro are come to claim their own. It is plain the question before us is whether to return the Silmaril to the house of its maker, or to defy them and keep it still for ourselves.  
Now I have long dwelt in Doriath, since its founding during the long ages of starlight. The innumerable years of bliss are still as a living memory in my mind, and nowhere in Beleriand had elves such joy and happiness as did we of Eglador, under Thingol and Melian. And even the return of Morgoth affected not our peace, save only to have us change our realm's name. Yet the coming of the Silmaril heralded the beginning of the end of our long content as we now see. Because of it, we lost both our king and queen, and endured terrible battle and sorrowful death. Only by your efforts as Thingol's heir, and our hard labour did we regain somewhat our happiness of old.

Thereafter the Silmaril returned to our land after its sojourn in Dor Firn-i-Guinar, and so healed many of the hurts that were beyond our power to heal, thus redressing somewhat the evils its doom had visited upon us. However, that doom remains with it still and for all the light, hope and joy it may now bestow to us, it remains perilous in our hands. Our bliss is threatened again by those who would crave the fabled jewel's power. Yet these are not merely grasping dwarves, but the _very sons_ of he who made it!

Therefore should we not now abide by the laws of inheritance that we as elves follow? Should we to our peril deny them their birthright, and chance the turmoil of yet more strife, of which we are hardly recovered from the dismay of the last conflict to afflict our land?"  
Here Araneg turned to the rest of the seated nobility. "My lords!" he said, addressing them all. "This matter can be settled in peace even as the sons of Feanaro desire, and I see no fault in that. Doriath _should not_... nay, _must not_ suffer another war for the cause of a Silmaril! We have used its power well and the princes do not begrudge us that good fortune. Therefore let us be content with what light and power we have so far gained, and yield the jewel so that we may continue to live in peace!"

Araneg retook his seat to the approving nods of some of the elder lords, but others shook their heads and murmured against his words.

Then lord Ellonui stood and turned to the king. He was younger in years than the other lords who sat there, and was known for his quick temper that many deemed at times to be rash. Yet he was held by all to be valiant as he had shown himself to be in the Dagor Dornoth, when in wrath at his father's slaying, he had led an elven company and driven back a dwarf legion with great slaughter. He had taken his father's seat at council, and had ever called for the urgent reformation of Doriath's army. A great champion of the realm was Ellonui son of Bronadui.

"My lord, permit me to speak if I may!" he said. The king gave a nod.  
Ellonui began. "We have heard the words of lord Araneg and they seem wise enough, yet I am not of the same mind as he. Seated beside me is my lord Banion, and most of you here knew our fathers who were lords and counsellors of Thingol our long king. Now they are gone, slain in the defence of Doriath and _mark you_, the Silmaril. Much blood has been spilled for the sake of this jewel, and not only of our fathers and many others of our people, but also of those who fell in the kinslaying of old!"

At that, voiced approvals could be heard among some of the lords.

Ellonui continued. "Those sorrows are to my mind yet to be assuaged, and the words of Curufin to Haldir that he should bring battle again to the Teleri if _"refused a second time,"_ sting my heart! Their message may in part seem courteous and fair worded, yet the hearts of its authors are not so. By their talk with Haldir they still show themselves to be proud and haughty of mood.  
_"Above the simple minds of the quaint forests of Doriath,"_ they say! Yet who are they to talk so about our people, scornfully naming us _"dark elves,"_ though they be dark of heart, and unrepentant of their evil deeds of old! Much also can be said of it being Celegorm and Curufin who are sent to us with their demands. For it is to mock the king to send the _very two_ who hindered Beren and Luthien in their quest to retrieve the selfsame jewel they would now claim. Therefore, are we now to bow to the will of these swaggering princes, and yield that which so many others have paid for with innocent blood? It is not clear to me that it should be so, for all the talk of the laws of inheritance that we as elves adhere to!"

Here lord Tuornen swiftly broke in. "Now come Ellonui! You are hot of mood as is your wont, and so it was with your father also, whom I knew well. Yet your grief of loss is not yours alone to bear for I too lost a good friend in him, and many others besides. However, let not the passions of the heart cloud the wisdom of the mind, for we who were spared must now think of protecting the living who remain in our charge! Doriath was drawn into a net of doom that far exceeded the purpose of Thingol when he named the Silmaril as brideprice for Luthien, and he and his kingdom have since paid bitterly for stirring the curse of hatred that Feanaro's Oath bestowed upon it. Now however is our chance to free ourselves from this doom, so that we may live free of the fear and doubt that gnaws our hearts, amid the joys of living within the Silmaril's power! That the blood of elves be assuaged by yet more blood as shall surely come to pass if we keep this jewel, can only bring more woe and despair to us, of which I have had my fill! We must return it!"

So said Tuornen who was great among the Doriathrim, and honoured by all in the land. He was an elf of great courage and wisdom, tempered in equal measure, and ever weighty were his words in council. The lords who were of the same mind as he now loudly voiced their agreement, deeming he had justly scored a point against Ellonui's words. Yet their assenting tones so incensed the son of Bronadui, that he made as if to stand and reply, but the king raised a checking hand.

"Let us hear from others who have not spoken!" he said. "What of lord Estannen. What say you in this matter?"

He was the chief of a wandering people who had finally found their home in Doriath.  
They were Sindarin elves who sought little to do with the wars against Morgoth, yet were unwilling to forsake the lands of Beleriand that they loved. Of old, they had dwelt in the lands of Hithlum throughout the Ages of Stars. At the coming of the Noldor, they had remained in that realm though they mingled not with the people of Feanor and Fingolfin. But after a short time they moved away, because of the strife between those two houses. And passing over the Ered Wethrin, they came to dwell in the pleasant vales of the lands about the Ivrin. However, the coming of men to that region led by Magor of the house of Aradan, saw them silently fade away from that land.

At the time of the breaking of the siege of Angband, Estannen and his people yet dwelt in the woodland plains of Nuath, that lay between the rivers Nenning and Ginglith. There they remained untroubled until Minas Tirith was taken by Gorthaur, servant of Morgoth, and his orcs came down the Sirion, ravaging all the lands about, and spreading a desolation of fear. The elves fled the onslaught and passed southward nigh to the wooded highlands of Taur-en-Faroth that rose above Nargothrond. They crossed over the Narog to finally settle in the lands far south of the mighty Gates of Sirion. Near the eaves of Nan-Tathren is where they dwelt for a time, delighting in that quiet land's grassy plains, its shadowy willow woods, and its pleasant flowery meads.

Yet the coming of Glaurung the dragon to Nargothrond brought an end to their happiness, for they were filled with fear at the many tales of woe that came to them from the fleeing Noldor of that realm. In the ensuing doubt, Estannen and his people were yet again forced to move from lands they held dear. Their fleeing steps took them eastward, where after crossing the Sirion, they dwelt for a short time beneath the towering walls of the Andram. However, being ever fearful of the orc armies of Morgoth, they continued on until they finally came to the Ramdal, where the great wall petered out to gentle slopes, and came to an end. There they espied Amon Ereb from afar, yet turned away from those lands as they did not wish to meet with the people of Feanor who dwelt there. Instead they turned northwards, towards the distant eaves of Region.  
Thus did they hear of Doriath's fall, and of its slow rise from ruin. Then being weary of constant displacement, and fearful of the ever lengthening power of Morgoth, they repaired to that ancient realm of the Sindar, and found joy with their long sundered kin. Their numbers swelled Doriath's people, and their chief was given the honour of becoming a lord and counsellor to the king.

Estannen now rose to his feet. "My lord, this matter is indeed troubling to our land as well as to my heart, for I now wonder if there is any place in Beleriand where a peace unbroken may reign for elves. Eagerly did I bring my host to Doriath upon hearing of its newfound respite, and here we found the joy and contentment that we had long yearned as we walked the pathless wilds of the outer lands. But now war threatens yet again in Doriath, in which many shall surely perish, and the woes from which we fled should come to haunt us once more. Therefore I say that my people and I have also had our fill of troubles, and we would not lose the happiness we have gained here. If the only means to protect that peace is to yield the Silmaril, then so be it! I counsel that we surrender the jewel!"

He sat down to the smiles and nods of the elder lords Tuornen, Aradir and Araneg, who commended his wisdom.

After a moment the king turned to his Chief Captain. "And what of you lord Tirithalui. What is your counsel in this?"

Tirithalui stood and faced his peers. He had served in the guard of Thingol, and was a close friend of Mablung "of the heavy hand". He had fought in the last defence of the Silmaril before the doors of the Treasury, where he had fallen at the last with grievous wound. Yet mighty was he among the Doriathrim, and he was tended by the maidens of healing that thereafter scoured the dead for survivors. Therefore he did not perish in that battle and swiftly grew hale again

Yet an elf of grim mood and few words he afterwards became, for he never forgot the brutal axes of the Naugrim, nor the slaying of Mablung and many others that he had served with. But that grief instilled in him a wisdom of wariness and prudence that governed his counsels to the king. Ever in the past did he give thought to the outer defences of Doriath, for it troubled him greatly that the Girdle was no more, thus leaving all in the land to the mercy of outside evils. Yet few had hearkened to his warnings save lord Ellonui. The king at that time had held matters of rebuilding and regrowth in the kingdom to be of greater importance. But now his fears were realised, and Doriath stood unprepared.

"My lord." he said. "I am your Chief Captain whose duty is to protect you and your people from all perils that may assail you. To my mind that protection comes not only through the force of arms in defence, but also through prudent counsel that may serve to allay any attack on Doriath and its people. It is plain to me that to deny the sons of Feanaro may assuredly lead to an assault on Doriath. Yet I would remind the council that we are still rebuilding our realm. As yet, preference has been given to other facets of reconstruction than that of defence. Therefore to become embroiled in another conflict at this time would be most unwise for us, as what meagre armed units we have are as yet unprepared to face any major conflict. I thus counsel that we take the course that would ensure peace in your realm my lord. Surrendering the jewel would seem the wisest choice."

Lords Tuornen and Araneg again nodded their approval to the _good sense_ of the majority of the lords who had spoken. Even Estannen turned to Tirithalui and bowed his head, gratefully acknowledging the Chief Captain's support.

Then lord Banion stood. He was a tall elf of long dark hair, and a fairness of face that was like to those born in the blessed realm of Aman under the lost light of the Telperion and Laurelin. Thus he appeared rather as a lord of the Noldor than of the Sindar. Yet now his proudly handsome features were stern, mirroring his mood.  
"If I may my lord," he said, to which the king nodded.

"Fellow counsellors! Doriath has suffered terrible sorrows in the recent past. Yet more grievous to me is how those sorrows have shorn us of our courage and pride. How is it that so many of you would now counsel the king to be fearful, surrendering to the sons of Feanaro that which they deserve not?"

Now it was the turn of those who supported his words to murmur their approval and nod their support.

"Since their coming to Middle-earth and the death of their father, they have scarce made any true attempt to rescue the Silmarils from the Iron Crown, save perhaps in their recent gathering for battle that was the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. Yet that war only came about because of the hope instilled by the courage of Beren and Luthien, who proved that Morgoth was not unassailable.

Even so, as said before, Celegorm and Curufin sought to hinder those twain in their malice.  
Now the sons of Feanaro would bandy with words, _"declaring their mercy"_ in having allowed us the use of the Silmaril awhile, in honour of Beren and Luthien. It is but the devious aim of lulling the _"quaint minds"_ of the _"dark elves"_ of Doriath into humble understanding, so that we might gratefully return the jewel to them as they laugh scornfully behind us. Yet did they not dwell at their pleasure for nigh five hundred years of the sun, refusing to assail Angband, thus leaving Morgoth to strengthen his forces. Indeed I know somewhat of the Golodhrim's histories in Beleriand! Of how only the lords Fingolfin, Angrod and Aegnor sought to rouse their brethren, yet were defied by those whose very business it was to retrieve that for which they shamelessly slew the Lindar of Alqualonde, and betrayed and abandoned their own kin to the frozen wastes of the north for!

It grieves me that in this matter always the purer of heart have paid. So it was that Fingolfin, Angrod and Aegnor were first to perish in that sudden war they had warned against. Then Finrod the Beloved was lost to us, abandoned by his people through the malicious persuasions of Celegorm and Curufin. So too was Fingon slain, felled in grievous battle that was fought at the instigation of Maedhros. Yet the sons of Feanaro all remain, suffering not the anguish of death that they so deserve for their cruel and merciless deeds! But all here must see that the rescue of the Silmaril was not for them but for Thingol, who indeed refused to surrender it himself, because of the blood of Beren and the anguish of Luthien whereby the jewel had been won! See also how those twain in turn sent not the Silmaril to Amon Ereb but to Menegroth. Therefore let us not deny the last wish of Beren and Luthien ere they left this world. If we must face the sons of Feanaro in battle to honour that wish, then so be it!"

Here Banion turned his glinting gaze towards Tirithalui. "And let me add this," he said. "Armies have been raised in haste before my lord. The gathering of our forces will not be so much of an issue if we are of one mind in electing to keep the Silmaril, or if it is commanded outright by our king. We shall not be wrong to stand steadfast against Feanaro's house in courageous defiance, proud in our righteous conviction! I would not have my father and the countless others who have perished by Feanaro's word, deed and sword, to have suffered and died in vain!"

Tirithalui stirred in his seat as Banion sat down to Ellonui`s voiced agreement, but lord Aradir now stood and asked leave from the king to speak, which was granted. He was an elder lord of the same mind as Araneg, wise and cautious.  
"We hear you lord Banion," he began. "Yet however righteous we may seem to be in this affair, the point remains thus...Is it _still wise_ that we of Doriath should now entangle ourselves evermore deeply in the high doom of the Silmarils of Feanaro?"

To which lord Faelir cut in, "You would ask if we should _"still entangle ourselves evermore deeply in the doom of the jewels."_ Yet a very Silmaril has been in the keeping of the Doriathrim for many years now. How _entangled_ must you consider yourselves to be before you realise your stake in this matter? From the very hour that Beren gave the jewel to Thingol...Nay! From the hour that your king _named_ the Silmaril as lord Tuornen has said, was Doriath deeply caught within the net of doom of the great jewels!"

"And what would _your_ position be in this lord Faelir?" asked Banion with faint suspicion in his tone. "I hear you say _your stake_ and _your king_ as if you have repented of all ties to this realm that you but recently called your own. Are we to take your words to mean that you would now side with your Golodhrim brethren, and aid their cause the better, since you are already deep in our counsels?"

There was a potent silence as they all turned to the Noldorin lord. Doubt was in many a glance, but Faelir stood tall and proud.  
"My lords," he said. "Think not to look at me with such unease of hearts. You look upon one who bears a deep displeasure for the sons of Feanaro because of their past treacheries towards my kin. None here can deny that my people and I have proved to be friends of the Doriathrim in all matters since our admittance into your realm. Yet you would now question my loyalty?

My folk and I indeed followed the call of Feanaro, and bound ourselves foolishly to his fey purpose that brought us under the dark shadow of the Doom of Noldor. Yet know that the Curse has not been an easy fate to live with! So do we ever rue our folly!  
Indeed, I will not deny that all we Noldor who came to Middle-earth have only ourselves to blame for the woes that have since afflicted us. For were we not forewarned in Tirion by the Valar of the evil hour that would have us take the dark road to sorrows unforeseen? However, a chief share of blame for those foretold woes lies with the Feanorrim, whom all but punished we of their allied kin who sought to aid them in their vengeance against Morgoth.

So they left us to endure the torturous colds of the Helcaraxe; a merciless deed which we forgave in spite of losing many of our people. Their scorn we long endured in many a council in Hithlum, ere they moved eastward to lessen the strife _they_ instigated between our peoples. In war we harboured them, only to have our goodwill repaid by their aiding in our beloved king's death through malicious counsel. The sons of Feanaro and their people have so wronged the rest of the Noldor, that my heart has long since shunned their cause, thus rendering myself and my people treasonable to their counsels, as we dwell in peace with you, the keepers of their jewel.

Yet to be held in such regard by them is but a small price to pay, as my real debt lies in the redressing of my past follies that had me follow their lead.  
Therefore I come back to your question lord Banion. What is my position in this matter you would ask? To my mind the sons of Feanaro no longer deserve to lay claim over the Silmarils! Gladly will I aid in defending the jewel from their clutches, should matters come to that. However, I shall abide with whatever the council may decide hereafter, and hereby pledge the unfailing service of my people to your command!"

The other lords all rose from their seats and solemnly bowed their heads towards the Noldorin lord, acknowledging his allegiance.

"Your loyalty is beyond question lord Faelir!" said the king. "And so I would ask that you forgive the doubt of the council, yet in so grave a matter, my lords would seek only to be sure in the face of oncoming evils."

Faelir bowed. "Their doubt is well understood my lord. For ever has treachery and deceit among kin been the chief fear of the Noldor, and no more so than in Nargothrond. In that realm, mistrust for all became our stern policy, and stealthy ambush against all strangers, be he elf, dwarf, man, ally or enemy, became our grim defence. Yet upon my word of honour I tell you truthfully that I side with Doriath my adopted country, and am prepared to defend the realm against the wrath of the Feanorrim, should need demand it!" The Noldorin lord bowed again and sat himself down.

"Your words gladden my heart lord Faelir," said Aradir, "for it is good to know that there are still few of the Golodhrim who adhere to wisdom when it comes to the Silmarils of Feanaro. However in returning to what I aforesaid, I would ask my question again.  
Is it still wise that we of Doriath should now entangle ourselves evermore deeply in the high doom of the Silmarils of Feanaro? Should we not wash our hands of the matter while fate still permits?  
It is by far the reasonable notion to support as we would have peace in our realm. Yet our younger lords seem rash, and overly eager to have us keep the Silmaril and therefore support the notion for war. However, to declare such bold intent in council is easy enough, though the act may not be so simple.

For _that_ choice would have us raise our swords against others of the Eldar, which in itself is too grave a matter for me to consider.  
We of the Doriathrim are not like the people of Feanaro, who are tainted by a grave doom that has darkened their hearts into deeming nothing of the terrible act of slaying elf by elf. We cannot allow ourselves to think as they do, reckoning little of such grave deeds even in the righteous defence of our realm! They are prepared to take steps in the retrieval of their jewel which we _cannot_, or I hope _will not_ let ourselves match!  
Besides, what can truly be said for keeping the Silmaril? At best it could be argued that we might see ourselves as a fated bulwark to Feanaro's claim, sacrificing our people and realm for some great unknown purpose!"

"Ah, now we come to it!" said lord Pinadar suddenly. Aradir slowly retook his seat as all now turned to the eldest lord, ready to hear his word.

"We come to it at last." he continued. "Indeed lord Aradir asks the two very questions that lie at the heart of this council. Should we not wash our hands of this matter, or shall Doriath see itself as a fated bulwark to Feanaro's claim! So far you have all said much on the plain choices for and against the keeping of the jewel. Yet to my mind the fate of the Silmaril is as far from plain as can be. No such doom of woe and delight lies hid within any of Arda's creations, as that which lies within the Silmarils of Feanaro. Yet what can be said of these jewels that we may better understand their tale in the world.

It is said that neither Yavanna the Valier who created their light, nor Feanaro who created their housing could either reproduce or better their work. Thus the mighty jewels are the coming together of the greatest works of one of the Powers and of Elves. Also, in the Silmarils lies the only living memory of the blissful light of Aman, as yet pure and unstained by the poisons of Ungoliant, and the dark deeds that were to follow.

And what of those dark deeds that surround the jewels fate? The haughty pride of Feanaro, his terrible Oath, the defiance of the Golodhrim, the cruel Kinslaying that stained Aman with blood unjustly spilt, and the many hard and merciless deeds that followed. Indeed, who here may still see these jewels as mere adornments of beauty, or as greatly coveted treasures fit only to be locked in ones hoard! Who here is not overawed by their potent history, and lofty place in the councils of Arda! Yea! Truly great are the Silmarils in the tale of the world, greater than we here can fully conceive. Yet the little we may fathom of their doom must be assessed with all the wisdom that is given to us.

The Silmarils were stolen by Morgoth who withheld them in Angband the Iron Fortress. Indeed, the jewels were beyond the furthest reach and hope of _all_ the elves of Middle-earth. For did Morgoth not have the whole host of Angband and its unassailable walls set before them? And were they themselves not set in his Iron Crown and guarded by his very majesty? Yet even Morgoth in the omnipotence of his own realm could not deny their fate. And so was one rescued by Beren and Luthien beyond all hope and reckoning.

Now it is rightly considered by all to be the greatest deed ever wrought by elves and men. Yet do not doubt that a power of the highest order was also at work there. Indeed what power in all of Middle-earth or even blessed Aman could have cowed the might of Angband in one fell swoop as that which cast the Iron Fortress into deep slumber? It is true that the power of Luthien's song was great indeed, as we who were blessed to hear her sing in these very halls, remember. However, that she could tame _all_ the might of Morgoth unaided was a feat far beyond her own strength. Yet that divine will of old was administered through Luthien the Fair, and is that to be wondered at?

Now because that impossible task set by Thingol was achieved, should we not ask ourselves for what ultimate aim or purpose was this deed accomplished? Could it have been solely for the fulfilment of Beren and Luthien's love? I think not, though that union was indeed purposed. Yet we can all be assured that it was not for the sons of Feanaro, for whom the Doom of the Golodhrim foretold of their dark Oath betraying all their hopes of ever regaining their desired treasure. _"The Dispossessed shall they be for ever,"_ it was said, because of their grim vow and fell deeds, and that will not change.

Yet against all the powers of Morgoth and the grave Oath of Feanaro, a Silmaril came to Thingol, father of Luthien. And though the jewel's dark doom has worked against his realm in the past, it has still remained through many hardships with his kin, be it with Luthien in Tol Galen or with Dior our king, here in Doriath renewed. Thus it is clear to me that _this_ Silmaril's rightful place is with the house of Thingol for whom its rescue was fated. It may indeed be the will of Eru himself who guides the fates of the world, that we of Doriath were chosen to fulfil the part of bulwark against Feanaro's claim. And so I would urge all to _take heed!_ For the Silmaril _cannot_ and _will not_ return to the sons of Feanaro!"

All the lords in the council chamber sat silent, contemplating Pinadar's words. Dior's eyes fell upon each as they pondered upon all the wise elf had said. There were some who were moved to differ from their former opinions, yet others were not so taken by his words.

Finally lord Araneg spoke. "Your words are grave lord Pinadar, and we here doubt not your inherent wisdom. However, I would still question as to whether it be the will of "Eru Allfather" to have many innocent elves of Doriath fall to the evils of an unjust battle, so as to achieve some far off aim that we do not yet perceive!"

Here lord Haradion now answered. "Many would now say that it were better if Feanaro had never made the Silmarils that would later cause such grief and strife in Aman as in Middle-earth. However, but for his foresight and skill would the ancient light of Telperion and Laurelin have been forever extinguished, and lost to the world! Also, my lord Thingol and many others of Doriath were slain because of the dwarves lust for the jewel. Yet does this truly mean that we must repent of its rescue from the Iron Crown?

My lord Araneg! There are many deeds dared that in their beginning may seem overbold, such as Feanaro's creation of the Silmarils. Or they may be deemed unwise or foolhardy, as Beren's quest seemed. Yet in the fullness of time and through many evils they are justly rewarded, for they are deeds at whose roots lay a most noble cause. For in the beginning Feanaro was not moved to create the mighty jewels through haughty pride or grimness of heart. He made them with the noble thought to use his gift of craftmanship to create wonders for the glory of Arda and we the Children of Eru.

So it was that Thingol was not moved by greed or desire for the great jewel. Nor even solely with malicious intent to send Beren on an impossible errand that would surely lead to his death. Nay! At the heart of it I deem the quest chose itself! For what bride-price in all of Arda would have befitted to win the hand of Luthien the Fair if she would assent to marriage? What thing of such noble worth was there in all the world that the father of Luthien could have asked for as sufficient payment?  
Therefore I would urge you all to heed lord Pinadar's wise words! For as grim and foolhardy as retaining the Silmaril might seem to us now, who can tell to what glorious end that chosen path may yet lead in the divine counsels of Eru Allfather!"

Araneg subsided, but Tuornen rose and spoke.  
"My lords Pinadar and Haradion speak of noble causes, the will of "The One," and his high unfathomable purposes. However, though I consider them to be elves of great wisdom, it seems to me that all their talk on this matter is but mere speculation to further their argument in supporting a perilous decision for the future of Doriath! I and those who support me warn against _assured_ dire outcomes, rather than to support fanciful notions of fate and destiny! Bringing war and death to our people that could be avoided goes against the very principles of why I was made a lord and counsellor of the realm. I am still not convinced that we should keep this jewel!"

Lords now loudly voiced their support for Tuornen, but those who were for keeping the jewel also began to speak out. Soon the council became a loud brawl of opposing opinions, that threatened to escalate into angry confrontations. Already the lords Ellonui and Banion were stood, shouting down with pointing fingers, the lords Tuornen and Araneg. The king sat silent, saddened by the verbal sparring that had erupted in his council chamber. Of all the lords, only Pinadar and Haradion sat silent with him, with solemn faces.

And in a chair apart sat Haldir son of Falathar. All the while he had looked on with wide round eyes, and listened intently to all that was said, though he felt far out of place at being privy to the lofty counsels of the great in Doriath. In his own mind he wished for the Silmaril to be returned, as he had seen the flame of desire in Celegorm and Curufin's eyes, and feared greatly the final outcome of the matter were the princes to be denied. But now he looked on in great distress at the arguing lords, as it seemed to him that the grief he had portended had already come into the heart of his beloved land.

Then Dior rose and raised a hand that presently silenced the hall.  
"My lords!" he said. "I have heard all your arguments for and against the keeping of the Silmaril and would now proclaim my judgement!"

Those who were stood now slowly retook their seats, and all eyes in the council chamber were turned to the king.

"In this matter, I Dior Eluchil your king, judge that the Silmaril will remain in Doriath and shall not return into the hands of the sons of Feanaro!"

The lords who were against the keeping of the jewel all looked to one another with distressed faces, and Haldir closed his eyes and bowed his head as the fate he had feared was realised.

But Tuornen rose and turned to the king. "My lord! Would you now keep this thing against all prudent counsel, claiming it for your own as one ensnared by the perilous desire which has brought low all the others, who have kept it for themselves?"

But the king answered. "I do not now claim the Silmaril for my own Lord Tuornen, nor have I ever done so! Neither do I wish any harm to come to my people and my realm. Indeed why would I, who came to raise Doriath anew, now wish for its destruction? Why would I now wish that all our hard efforts in restoring Thingol's ancient realm be in vain? If any here believe that I am guilty of these things, being thus _ensnared_ by desire for the Silmaril, then he must also deny that I am the son of Beren and Luthien, and the heir of Thingol Greymantle and Melian the Maiar! For no seed of theirs could ever wish for such evils to afflict their folk and realm!

Yet there are those of you who wonder at my choice in council. Why I should choose an action that may assuredly lead to war. And a grim war at that as it would pit us against others of the Eldar no less! However, to those I would ask if they heard me not as I proclaimed with foresight, the doom of the Silmaril when I first revealed it to you all. Did I not say _'its fate shall lead it even unto the heavens, where it shall remain a sign of hope to all of true heart in Middle-earth!'_  
That doom shall only come to pass through the heirs of Thingol's house and not of Feanaro's! Neither shall fate allow the sons of Feanaro to regain the Silmarils as you have all heard!"

Now the king opened the coffer that lay in front of him, from which sprung shafts of radiant light that danced upon the ceiling and the tapestries on the walls of the chamber. Dior continued. "Yet there are lords here who are undaunted by fate and destiny, calling them _fanciful_ notions. Therefore behold! Let the Silmaril now show you what it will!"

He removed the jewel from the coffer and held it aloft. Its living light slowly began to wax ever brighter in his hand. The lords shielded their eyes from the glare and suddenly gasped in wonder, for all now beheld a vision emanating from within the Silmaril's star. It grew outward from the star's centre until it seemed like a great tapestry suspended in mid air. Yet the picture within was not of a scene unmoving, as a still moment in time that is depicted to the thought of artists, and brought forth by the skill of their weaving hands. The scene was alive with the movement of the living world, as a vision like those that adept minstrels could conjure of their songs to the minds of their listeners. Yet this was more than those ghost-like illusions. The lords looked into a very portal of time, and saw events that were yet to unfold, and places that were beyond the scope of their imagining.

They looked upon a golden sandy beach, whose shores were gently lapped by the sparkling blue waters of the sea. Standing before them was a maiden whom many thought to be Luthien herself. However, they soon saw that it was not so, though she was of such likeness as to be of close kin to Thingol's daughter. Her raiment was of white, and she stood barefoot in the sand with her long dark tresses straying in the sea breeze. Yet clasped about her neck was the Silmaril within the Nauglamir; its dazzling light shimmering upon the waters surface, and turning the sand stones into shining crystals.

Before her stood a tall man. His hair was golden like the bright rays of the sun and his face was exceedingly beautiful. They stood with hands clasped together and he gazed at the maiden with a tender smile, though she did not return it. Perhaps the lords of Doriath looked upon the grievous parting of a mariner from his wife, for in the near distance, lying just off the shallow waters could be descried a beautiful ship of gleaming white timbers with long smooth golden oars and great silver sails. The man then gathered the fair maiden in his arms, but even as he leaned forward to kiss her, the vision changed.

A darkened hue of grey now became the vision's canvas as the bright sun and blue sky suddenly disappeared behind the great billowing clouds of a storm. The golden beach dimmed and seemed to rise to a great height, transforming into a high cliff edge that overlooked a raging tempest of towering angry waves that piled atop each other, sending huge plumes of foam high into the stormy airs.  
The man and the ship both vanished, yet the fair maiden remained, now stood alone near the edge of the precipice with a look of great distress upon her beautiful face. Her clothing clung wetly to her body as she was drenched by the heavy rains that were loosed from the stormy grey ceiling overhead. She seemed as one cornered by some evil form of pursuit, for she seemed to back away towards the cliff edge, looking wildly about her with nowhere else to go.

She still wore the Silmaril, whose illumination defied the deluge, lighting her face in the gloom. Her glistening grey eyes were wide with fear at the approach of the indiscernible peril.  
Now she stood at the cliff's very edge, and all could see her glance fearfully at the dreadful drop to the churning waters below. Suddenly there was a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder that rent the airs asunder. To the horror of the lords, the maiden leapt over the precipice with a cry! Down she plummeted towards the stormy waters of the sea, and the lords sight followed after her. Into the water they plunged, following the wake of her watery passage into the depths of Ulmo's domain. In the glowing light of the Silmaril, the lords could see her sinking slowly towards the dark green depths, her dark hair and white dress billowing wave-like about her. Then the vision seemed to fade and was changed.

It seemed to the lords as though they were rising from the shadowy deep, and all could see the fast approach of the shimmering sea surface as seen from beneath the waves. Swiftly, they broke free of the waters, climbing high into the sky as if their vision had the wings of a bird. Indeed, suddenly sweeping upwards into view was a great white gull of the sea, flying speedily over Belegaer's calming waters. Yet about its neck was clasped the Silmaril within the Nauglamir, shining once again in the free airs of the world. The storm was now passing into the east, yet the vision turned westward, following the soaring bird towards a golden sunset of yellow rays, peeking through mountainous clouds that were tinted with hues of orange and red.

Suddenly the vision seemed to speed on at an unimaginable pace, rendering all into a sliding blur of rapid movement. After a racing moment, the vision came to a halt with dizzying abruptness, and all could descry afar off, a white ship sailing eastward towards them under the silver sheen of a full moon on a cloudless night. It was not long before the lords knew it to be the very boat they had seen anchored off the shallows. Yet its wide silver sails hung dormant, with scarcely a ripple as it laboured for headway in the windless night.

In sorrow did the lords of Doriath look upon that ship, as they knew that the mariner returned to grief as his wife had drowned in the watery depths of the sea. But there was the great bird again, flying westward with frantic speed. It was now almost above the ship and lo! it suddenly plummeted from the night airs as a falling star. Down it fell, struggling to spread its wings to ease its perilous descent. Yet even as it would fall upon the white timbers of the deck, the vision was changed.

The lords now looked on in wonder, for there, stood at the prow of the ship, was the tall mariner and beside him, in his arms stood that fair maiden whom all had thought drowned in the cold waters of the sea! And upon the man's brow was the Silmaril of Feanor; its light shining brighter than before as it faced the west. For that indeed was where the ship now seemed headed, cutting through the grey waters towards a distant fiery sunset.

Many visions now passed swiftly before the lords eyes.  
They saw the ship sail by strange isles whose shallows were perilously filled with the half sunken heads of jagged rocks, and whose shores were shrouded in dark ominous mists that writhed and swirled as if disturbed by the light of the Silmaril.

They beheld the ship passing over black waters, from which wave-like shadows clung to the white timbers of the ship's hull and threatened to smother the boat in their cloying darkness. In those strange seas, all was dim save for the Silmaril that blazed a straight passage of undeniable light from the prow where the mariner was stood.

Now the ship passed by an isle with a great harbour whose waters were sprinkled with many graceful swan-like ships. A fair haven city lay nestled at its inner bay, with numerous clusters of white housings and silver domed buildings. Terraced seaward gardens tiered down from the coastal highlands to the seafront. Standing in the midst of the harbour city was a tall monument of a tower with a single light shining from its summit, its radiance mingling with that of the Silmaril in greeting.

Yet in all these visions, whether in dark mists, or shadowy seas or in the passing of silent haven cities in the twilight, the Silmaril shone unsullied, waxing ever brighter as it continued on westward.

The lords then beheld the mariner and the fair maiden standing at the prow of their ship as it lay anchored in calm blue waters that were laced with a dreamy silver sheen. It seemed as though they both looked upon a sight that filled them with great wonder. The vision slowly turned towards what they saw and the lords all gasped at the sight of it.

Before them lay a silent beach of white sands, twinkling here and there with bright gems and shining pearls that lay strewn all along the coast. Beyond lay a very fair seaward land of rolling green lawns with clusters of wild gardens of many coloured flowers. The land was sheltered by tall trees with smooth shining boles that stretched to long supple limbs, heavy-set with glittering leaves of gold and silver. Within the folds of the land were delved shallow valleys out of which flowed rivers of silver that sparkled as they meandered down to the sea. Beyond the coastal lands the terrain rose to hilly shoulders over which shimmering waters plunged down as wavering threads of dreamy waterfalls

Yet stood behind this scene of serene beauty were mountains of unimaginable splendour.  
Terrifyingly sheer were their walls that rose to unguessed heights and the range itself endlessly spanned the horizon from north to south. They looked upon the very shores of Eldamar and the mighty walls of the Pelori in Aman!

The vision began to rise rapidly, with ever gaining speed until even the tremendous walls were surpassed and their ice-capped jagged crowns reached up from below like the white-tipped fingers of a gargantuan hand. But even as the lords vision outdid the summit of the wall, they all gasped in wonder. Behind the mighty fence of the Valar rose a mount that dwarfed even the Pelori into insignificance. It stood alone, spreading into sudden view in unimaginable proportion, shining whiter than snow, insurmountable and immutable, both awesome and terrible, rising unendingly into the heavens.  
The Mount Of Taniquetil, Sentinel of the Valar!

Still the vision rose, yet there seemed no end to the great behemoth that stood as a monolith reared as if by Eru himself to watch over the world. Up continued the gaze of the lords of Doriath, following the vision's heavenly path. Now they reached heights where the blue skies of the world darkened as they passed into the lower airs of the Ilmen. There soon came an approaching gleam from above, and the dark of the surrounding heavens was lightened. Their swift ascent was slowed as they beheld a multitude of small stars flying as if with wings all about the monumental grey of the mountain. But soon they could see that the winged stars were in fact great birds.

Mighty eagles there were and swift hawks, all glowing with the inner light of their graceful spirits. These were the birds of Manwe that were his eyes and ears to the world, flying now in winds as freshly released at birth by his hand. Suddenly, Taniquetil's summit was reached and there the vision halted, looking down upon a shining silver domed city under clear starlight, whose glowing sheen shimmered undimmed upon the white walls of Manwe's halls. All in the council chamber stared agape in awe as they beheld that holy city, where sat Manwe Sulimo upon the throne of Arda with Varda his queen at his side.

But now the vision began to rise still further until Taniquetil's summit was as a shining beacon of silver light far below, and the lords of Doriath looked upon the vast realm of the stars, and beheld the very cauldrons of their burning white fires. Then there came a star towards them, growing ever brighter, yet soon all could see that it was a ship of the sea, even that which was captained by the tall mariner, and anchored way below in the bay of Eldamar beneath the walls of the Pelori. To their wonder it now sailed the pathways of heaven, yet was newly made and fairer to behold by far, filled with a wavering flame, pure and bright. And all beheld the tall mariner who now sat alone at the helm, glistening with the dust of elven gems and the Silmaril still shone brightly upon his brow.

As the ship drew near, he seemed to lean over and look towards the far earth and suddenly the vision followed his gaze, plummeting down with tremendous speed once again. The dark of the Ilmen soon merged with the reddened sky of dusk in Arda, and the lords sights passed swiftly through a high covering of wispy cloud. Then far below could be descried the darkening lands of Beleriand in early night, lying open beneath their eyes. Down sped the vision towards the southern tipped coasts where all could soon see the twinkling fires of a settlement nigh to the dark arms of a great delta.

Nearer the earth they now were and they could see a great concourse of people gathered in the town, but the vision came to finally rest upon two young boys who looked so much alike as to be twins. And though they were dark of hair, in their faces could be discerned the likeness of the tall mariner who now sailed the heavens. Now all that people were looking up to the sky, some pointing and others kneeling and giving thanks, and the vision slowly turned upward, following their gaze. And there, in the darkening blanket of night, shone a star that was far brighter than all the rest, and the lords of Doriath knew it for the Silmaril of Feanor. Then the vision slowly faded into the white starlight of the jewel, and the lords found their sights returned to the council chamber in Menegroth.

Dior set the Silmaril back into the coffer and there was a long silence before he spoke. "My lords, you have all been blessed this day to bear witness to sights that none of the Sindar have ever seen! You who have been granted a glance into the future that _must be!_ You who with your own eyes have beheld the coasts of blessed Aman that are banned to all in Middle-earth! You who have looked even upon the _very summit of Taniquetil_ and the dwellings of Manwe and Varda! Who here may still deny the Silmaril's true fate... deny its _true destiny_? Come now! If there be any among you who still doubt, let him speak!"

All sat silent and speechless in the chamber with heads bowed. Such was the effect the vision had on them.

"Nay, do not sit with bowed heads!" said Dior. "Now is the time to regain your courage of old! To be prepared to rise up to arms when the time comes! To rally behind your king in standing firm as protectors of the Silmaril's true destiny! Do I hold my lords with me in this?"

The lords now rose one by one from their seats and when all were stood, each had uttered the same five words.

"I am with you lord!"

* * *

Author's Commentary:

In this chapter we have the council that has the lords of the Doriathrim decide whether to return or keep the Silmaril.  
We have elves of various backgrounds. There are elder lords who were counsellors of Thingol, to newly come chieftains of Sindarin groups who are fleeing the outside perils of the day. Dior would have wanted a council that represented as roundly as possible, all the peoples of Doriath who lived there at that time. Therefore I also included the Noldorin lord Failo or Faelir, since it is stated in the Narn that elves of Nargothrond were admitted into Doriath after its sacking by Glaurung. With the Noldor being "who they are", they would surely have had representation in the "new government" of the day.  
Now, I well and truly believe that those who were against keeping the jewel were absolutely right! When you look at Doriath's recent prior history you understand their stance the better.

Doriath had survived for thousands of sun years since its inception. The elves who lived there were archaic in nature, very set in their ways and customs and even when the world was in turmoil, it hardly touched them because of the protection of the Girdle. All of a sudden, their majestic king is murdered. Before they can come to terms with this terrible deed, Melian their beloved queen leaves and with her goes the protective girdle. You can imagine the trauma but wait...before they know what's happening, dwarves invade and understandably defeat them and ransack Menegroth's treasures. These elves must have well and truly been haunted and severely affected by this sudden terrible chain of events. Yet Dior, Thingol's heir comes and rouses their broken spirits to rebuilding their realm, which to their great credit, they achieve. Then the Silmaril returns and boosts their confidence and happiness. But they have only had it for 3 years when the sons of Feanor come, threatening war if they are refused.

Now I think the lords can be forgiven for being somewhat cowardly in a sense, but I think its the learned wisdom of caution and genuine fear at what might happen to their hard work of restoration, if there be battle again. Those who are for keeping the jewel have their points but as much as their arguments are valid in some ways, they are hardly in keeping with the psychological state of the Doriathrim that I think would have existed at the time. As Tuornen says, "_That the blood of elves be assuaged by yet more blood as shall surely come to pass if we keep this jewel, can only bring more woe and despair to us of which I have had my fill! We must return it!_"

But in trying to write of a council that covers all aspects of the argument, one has to tackle the theme of fate or destiny.  
This was a favourite theme in Tolkien's works. In fact, the will of fate is the very backbone of deeds and actions in his stories. Eru is in a sense controlling all from afar, influencing choices people make and passing it off as chance. In the Hobbit and LOTR, Gandalf is always going on about chance being more than we think it is.  
Remember this: "_I can put it no plainer than by saying that Bilbo was meant to find the ring, and not by its maker. In which case you also were meant to have it. And that may be an encouraging thought._" Gandalf's words to Frodo as taken from the chapter "The Shadow Of The Past" in the LOTR.

Pinadar's speech speaks along those lines. Fate and Destiny. He is now speaking for the Silmaril, saying it has come to Doriath for a greater reason than they fathom and so they must do all they can so that it fulfils its true destiny. Of course it's not destined for the sons of Feanor as we all well know. In other words one might say, rather bluntly, that the Doriathrim are being used by Eru to protect the Silmaril from the Feanorrim so that it can achieve his ultimate purpose of having it shine in the heavens as a sign of hope to all. Dior foretold this in his speech in Chapter One.  
Of course, not all the lords would have listened to all the talk of trusting to fate in the path of oncoming evils. This to them would have been asking a lot, especially after their terrible recent history.

So what would change everyone's mind to whole-heartedly support the notion for keeping the jewel?  
I thought the Silmaril itself should have a say in the proceedings by giving all a shared vision of the future. This serves to awe all the lords into supplication by revealing scenes that dazzle, humble, intrigue and astound.

Someone told me they liked the vision but were disappointed that it was what convinced the lords to keep the jewel rather than continued debate. My take on this is that the lords had to be 100% behind Dior in support. No amount of arguing would have changed the minds of lords like Tuornen, Aradir and Araneg. As I said before, these guys had completely valid arguments in my opinion against keeping the Silmaril. Yet Dior needed all of his lords to truly understand what was going on. I think the lords deserved that at least since they were being asked to give total support to a war of truly serious nature. A war which was to be _against other elves_ for that matter, which in itself was considered taboo. It was asking much of the Sindar in the first place so only something that totally removed all doubt in their minds could well and truly convince them.

Seeing the journey of the Silmaril into the west, the realm of Valinor, Manwe's city atop Taniquetil and the jewel's final fate would have undoubtedly done the trick. It would have been the same as a priest showing an atheist a vision of the pearly gates and God on his throne. That would get one believing in religion I would think! So the Silmaril influences the situation so that the Sindar will sacrifice themselves for its cause. Yet one can't blame the jewel, since it ultimately stands for Good. It stands for the will of Iluvatar. To be manipulated by good to achieve a greater good is in the end, okay I guess. The same thing can be said for Gandalf in LOTR. He is a force for good but his actions are more than once construed as manipulation. So it was with King Theoden who swapped the puppetry of Grima for Gandalf. Denethor was more his own man but, well, we all know where following his own counsel eventually led him. So having the Silmaril do the same is certainly not a new or far-fetched theme in Tolkien's universe.

Anyway, lets move on to the next chapter!


	4. The End Of Peace

**THE FALL OF DORIATH**

**MAETHOR is the Sindarin form of WARRIOR.**

**Chapter Four...  
"THE END OF PEACE"**

The council was ended and Dior and his lords now called all their people together in the Menelrond. There they spoke of the message sent by the sons of Feanor, and of their own decision in council to keep the Silmaril. The lords had indeed feared that their ruling would be rejected by many, yet the people of Doriath were somewhat changed. They were no longer a people cozened into eternal comforts and peace, isolated in realm as in heart from the perils of the outer lands. Now they were ready in mind, less prone to dismay, less apt to timidity, sterner in mood yet wiser of heart. Such it was that the grief and sorrows of the past had taught them, and the hope kindled by the Silmaril had instilled in them. Also, the lords of Doriath were held in high honour, and their word had great bearing upon their peoples choices, and none sought to question the wisdom of the king whom they trusted above all as the saviour of their realm. There were however still many discussions and debates that continued late into the night. Yet by morning all was said and done, and Doriath's position was set. The Silmaril would remain in their land, whatever may betide thereafter.

That was the morning of the third day since Haldir's journeying from the eastern borders, and he now felt that he should return with the king's answer. He stood now in the Menelrond, by the Fountain of Nightingales that rose in the hall's midst. It was made in the image of a great beech tree, rising out of a large round pool of clear water. Its mighty bole of smooth white marble rose even to the very apex of the hall, where its crown branched out wide over the multi-coloured stone floor, and upheld the hall's arching roof in numerous traceries of stone. Its lower limbs ended in prongs of three that followed the curve of wide basins, sprouting showering shafts of crystalline waters. At the bottom of the pool and each lofty basin lay stones that glowed with an inner light of silver that lit the waters from within. These had been made by Melian, and along with other stones of gold, hung or lay in many places about Menegroth, illuminating the waters of fountains or hanging upon walls and pillars as wondrous crystalline lamps. Amid the marble tree's lower boughs and carven leaves were shining bowers wherein nightingales dwelt, and could be seen flitting from branch to branch or stooping to drink from the sweet waters of the lofty fountains.

Haldir had beheld the sight many times since his arrival, and once before in the long past, yet its beauty always held him mesmerised. Even as he stood gazing upwards, unaware of all else, the king came to him and stood silent for a moment, smiling as he looked upon Haldir's wonder.

"It is beautiful is it not?" said Dior.

Haldir turned and upon realising, bowed low. "Forgive me lord! I heard not your approach."

He looked up again, staring with wide eyes. It was just before dawn and the light of Menegroth had not yet waxed. The fountain's waters glimmered and sparkled, sending up shafts of silver light from its basins and pools to splay their illumination in wide circles upon the dim ceiling.

"Indeed the fountain is beautiful!" he said at last. "The sight of it never fails to move me!"

"Alas! You now only see it in the twilight of its glory," said Dior as he looked upward to its high shining branches. "The nightingales sweet songs of old are hardly to be heard since the departure of Melian. It is said they still mourn her absence, and even the power of the Silmaril could not coax them to sing as they used. Yet what songs they do sing are of lament, sad and mournful to hear at time of night. They ever call to their lady, who dwells now in far Lorien in the fair gardens from whence she came!"

After a moment of sad reflection, Dior turned to Haldir whose eyes were lowered to the floor. He was overcome by a wistful melancholy at the remembrance of a joyful past now consigned to a yearning memory.

"Son of Falathar!" addressed the king. "The time has come for you to return to the sons of Feanaro with my answer, and so fulfil your errand!"

"So I must my lord," replied Haldir. "Yet I am now as loath to return as I was to come. However, the wise have said, _"What is fated to be shall be."_ It has been ordained that my part in this grave matter be to serve as errand runner between the two peoples. But I fear that more may be required of me than to be merely fleet of foot, ere all is ended!"

The king answered gravely. "It may indeed! Yet you shall not be alone, for that doom pertains to all you see here. But enough! Follow me now to my chamber!"

They went towards the eastern end where two exits led away from the great hall. It was early morning and there were but few elves about. Some sat by the hall's fountains, engaged in intimate conversation, while others were merrily hailing each other in morning greeting. The elves bowed before their king as he passed them by with Haldir behind him. The two exits stood side by side, with the arched left way leading to the council chamber, while the right led on into a wide passage. Haldir turned his head back to the hall as he heard a sweet melody rising. An early minstrel had begun his song of welcoming the new day, and smiling elves gathered about him to listen. His song began softly, as a lone voice in a great cavern, and yet was strengthened by the melodies of the harp he began to play. Now voice and tune interwove, sweeping from pillar to pillar across the wide floor of the hall. The song's enchantments grew in strength as other elves joined in the singing, the strong undertones of male voices held the floor as the lighter female voices took to the airs, rising to the apex of the hall.

Almost imperceptible at first, the shadows began to waver and dim as the dark vaulting ceiling grew lighter, and the countless traceries that were etched upon the colourless quartz began to glow. Then the gems set in the order and figures of the stars in the great Dome of Valmar which Melian had reproduced upon the high arched roof of the Menelrond, now burst into starry flames. The song's power heightened as more elves flowed into the hall, singing as they came, greeting the light of Melian. Brighter waxed the radiance from above, shrivelling the last vestiges of darkness to imbue all with the illumination of a new day. The light of the silver and gold stones along with the many lamps now intermingled with the ceiling's radiance that now shone fully, and the elves song ended in a crescendo of joyful welcome.  
Haldir was touched by his peoples undaunted spirit that had them continue their daily life as though there were no threat to their peace. He felt proud to be a Sindarin elf of Doriath.

He turned to see that the king awaited him by the entrance to the right passageway. "Wonderful is the coming of the new dawn to Menegroth, sire!" exclaimed Haldir.

Dior nodded. "And may we all bear witness to many more in our wondrous realm," he said with a fading smile.

The passageway had its walls and arched ceiling carven in the fashion of a continuous mass of wide leaves, and half hidden winding stems. At certain intervals, smooth stone boles of beech trees, half protruding from the leafy walls, rose from the floor to splayed crowns that held flaming torches. Yet amongst the thick of the carven greenery were those stones made of the craft of Melian, that here glowed as golden bulbs. It were as if one walked into a golden lit tunnel of thick leafy growth, that bore into the heart of a great mass of dense stony foliage. It was an amazing feat that the great elven and dwarven craftsmen had wrought through years of toil with chisel, hammer and glorious vision. The passage shortly turned right, where it came to an end by the entrance to Dior's chamber.

Authir, the king's doorwarden opened the richly carved oaken door and silently bowed before them. The door was closed behind, and they were stood again within Sam-uin-Ennin. Dior went to his table, took up the princes parchment and handed it back to the wood elf. He then stood silent with arms held behind his back, and turned to the tapestry that depicted Thingol and Melian as they were stood before their people. The wood elf watched the king for a moment, somewhat confused by his silence.

Finally he plucked up the courage to speak. "What of your answer my lord?" he quietly asked.

A faint smile came to Dior's face, and he drew a deep breath and turned to face the wood elf. "My answer is that you return the sons of Feanaro's message... with no word from me!"

Haldir was taken aback. "How so my lord. In council yester-morn, did not you and your lords choose to keep the Silmaril?"

"We did," replied the king. "But we are not yet prepared to face the repercussions of our choice as lord Tirithalui mentioned in council. Doriath and its marches need to be fortified. Too long was our time spent in newfound mirth, heeding little the growing perils from without. There was also much else to attend to in my realm ere I could take thought of its defence. And so we are overlate in our preparations. Yet it is my hope that to say neither yea or nay may leave the princes in a doubt that has them return to their land to further debate their next move."

"And to your wisdom, what would that be my lord?" asked Haldir.

"It is my hope that they would opt to send again for an answer at a later time," replied Dior.

Haldir did not believe for a moment that Celegorm and Curufin would return so easily to their homes. Dior had not seen the stern determination in their faces; had not heard in person their veiled threats. And if they went back to Amon Ereb, they would surely return, not to plead again, but to plunder and destroy Menegroth.  
Haldir was certain they would not let Dior keep the Silmaril for long, now that they had spoken.

"Forgive my forward manner my lord," said Haldir, acknowledging his bold questioning that came of his fearful hearkening to Celegorm's advice to persuade the king to see clearly in the matter. "But I doubt the reach of their patience in this matter. There is a cold flame that burns under their fair countenances, a fey mood that they can scarcely conceal! Shall such as these return without incident to their lands, and once there, opt to withdraw their claim for a season and by so doing, unwittingly give us the chance to re-arm our warriors, and fortify our land?"

Dior sighed. He and his lords were in truth, doubtful of their position. There had been further debates among them as to the jewel's fate. Should they try to hide it in Doriath? Should they send it away in secret from their land with Elwing, whom all had deemed to be the maiden in the vision. Many other counsels were thought of, discussed, rejected and set aside for further debate. Yet in the end it was decided that they would stand their ground, and await fate's purpose.

"Perhaps not Haldir," answered the king. "Yet there is no other choice left to us in this matter. No other way of placating them of our decision! The Silmaril is fated to stay in Doriath, or at least to remain with Thingol's kin. Because it is so, we have in truth said _nay_ to their request. Yet I must somehow soften the blow of our decision to them, delaying their wrath. Of the two princes, I deem Celegorm is of a milder temper, though all report makes him very proud. Yet his courteous manner towards you gives me faint hope that he is less fiery of mood, and would perhaps be more apt to assent to a temporary reprieve."

"And what of lord Curufin?" said Haldir doubtfully. He remembered the prince's scorn and anger towards him and the Doriathrim. "His is a dark mood that deeply dislikes the Sindar. He surely will not assent to any talk of delay."

"No, he would not," replied Dior. "Yet to win Celegorm over to our purpose may be enough. Curufin would be loath to gainsay his elder brother who is held in high honour with their people that is scarce less than Maedhros himself. Therefore you shall say to them that I return no answer at this time for I still have much to consider in this matter as do my people. You shall bid them with humble words to give me until the coming of Spring, for only then might they hear my word!"

Then Dior proceeded to discuss with Haldir what he should say to Celegorm and Curufin. The wood elf withheld his doubts and said no more.

Now after their lengthy meeting, Haldir was escorted in full honour to the gates of Menegroth by the king and the lords of Doriath. As they walked through the halls and passages of the underground city, Haldir saw that all the elves they passed stopped their activities to regard him with grave eyes. It were then that he came to realise the weighty nature of his involvement in matters, and he bowed his head under their gazes, greatly unnerved by the attention and the errand he was now to perform.

Finally they passed through the great doors and came to the bridge that arched over the Esgalduin. They stood within the cool shadow of the western rock face of the hill that rose high above them. The far bank of the river was bathed in sunlight. The morning was warm and bright with a sky of healthy blue that was sparsely touched by thin wisps of cloud. The clear waters of the river flowed by, sparkling in the early light save under the ancient bridge where dark eddies swirled about its shadowy arches. On the far side of the bridge lay the pleasant greensward that rose in a gentle slope from the riverside. Amid its green grasses and swaying flowers, were multitudes of Goatsbeard whose seedlings rose from their puff-like clusters to float in the woodland breeze and disperse into the forest airs as ascending snow flakes drifting in the sun. Beyond stood the foremost ranks of the beech trees of Neldoreth, standing tall and casting leafy shadows upon the rich greenery of the forest floor. And towering nearby was mighty Hiriloin, Queen of Beeches, watching over the woods of her domain with her lowest limbs beginning in the lofty heights where the rest of the trees neared their crowns.

Now the king turned to the wood elf. "I am troubled Haldir," he said. "Troubled for your well being as what I have commanded you to say to those two eager lords shall not at all be to their liking. For all my hopes, things may still go ill for you as they are after all, the sons of Feanaro. The pride of Celegorm would take ill to all gainsaying, and Curufin is perilous of mood for he is nearest to his father's fey spirit. I fear there is a chance they might vent the anger of their frustrations upon you in their haste. Perhaps it would be wise to send with you a bodyguard of my warriors that may look to your safety."

But Haldir replied. "Nay my lord! If others come with me who are fully armed and stern of mood, that might serve only to intimidate the princes and further stoke the embers of their Oath against us; a thing to be avoided if your own plan is to come to fruition. Therefore I must chance their ire alone!"

Dior and the lords of Doriath gazed at Haldir for a moment with grave respect in their eyes.

"You are gentle of heart son of Falathar," said the king with a smile, "yet stout at need and a true warrior of our cause! Therefore I bestow such blessings of good fortune as a king can on as well a deserving subject as yourself, and greatly hope that I shall see your safe return to my halls!"

"I thank you O King!" replied Haldir as he bowed low with his right hand upon his breast. "And I pledge to carry out your wish, and hopefully return with news on how all was received!"

He then turned and bowed to the lords that stood by, who all returned the courtesy. He bowed once again to the king, turned and swiftly made his way across the bridge, up the greensward and was soon lost in the shadows and greenery of the forest. The lords stood silent, their eyes following in Haldir's wake as they pondered upon their realm's uncertain future. How would the sons of Feanor take to Haldir's words? Whatever the outcome, one thing was certain. It was a very brave elf who now returned to the two princes with the fate of Doriath upon his shoulders. If Haldir ever returned alive, the lords would see to it that he be held in honour by all in the land.

After a moment Aradir sighed. "It is a fair summer in Doriath, yet the anxious goings-on in our realm belie its pleasantness. Now evermore bitter shall our winter be when it comes!"

But Pinadar said softly, "Perhaps more bitter than has ever been! Yet the swelling tide of Fate is moved, and we are now drawn to whatever shore it would break upon!"

But the king remained silent, his grey eyes gazing steadily northward.

Now Haldir took his way north, following the ancient road made by the dwarves. On it went with neither curve nor bend, ploughing straight through the forest as a great avenue that at least five abreast could walk. The distant flow of the Esgalduin could be heard to his right, beyond the wall of thick boles and green foliage. About him was a pleasant scene of rich growth that was overlaid by the healthy hue of late summer. It was very different to the dark violence of the storm he had come through when he last tread that way. After about a mile, the wide way ended at the junction where the road turned to the left and right.

The lesser paved road to the left made its way westward under the free sunlit airs of a peaceful meadow, flowered with cow-wheats and orchids of red and violet helleborines. That road led to the northern and western marches of Doriath, nigh to Dimbar that Beleg Cuthalion and Turin had once defended with many brave warriors. Now those places were unmanned, and the grass grew long amid the desolate northern forts. Ahead, and to his right stood the tall lines of beeches; their boughs frowning upon the open grassland of the meadow. The broad eastward road plunged into the trees leading back towards the river. Haldir took this way, following the gently sloping shadowed road until he emerged from the trees, and walked under the sunlight upon the greensward beside the western banks of the river.

He approached the second bridge of stone made of old by the dwarves, its wonderful design now fully apparent in the bright morning sun. It looked much like the Bridge of Menegroth, but with less engravings and traceries upon its stone structures, and there were no orbs of light upon its columns. It were also wider for the Esgalduin was broader at this point. Yet there was a change to the bridge that had been otherwise when he had come, for armed guards now stood by the bridge's entrance, and others were guarding its far end. Haldir slowed his pace as he neared them, and a smile of recognition lit his face as two of the guards came towards him.

"Hail son of Falathar," said one. He was the warden of the main gate who had barred him from entering Menegroth. The other was the one who had come from behind, having been swiftly passed by Haldir's urgency. "You are off early. Do you return to Arthorien?"

"Nay Candir," the wood elf replied gravely. "I am on yet another errand as I now return to the sons of Feanaro to deliver our king's answer to their claim."

The two guards smiles faded and each regarded Haldir solemnly in their silence.

"Do not condemn me with your grim looks," said Haldir, unable to endure their stares. "One would deem you think not to see me again."

"We do not mean to fill you with dismay," said the other guard. "Yet we cannot help but feel for you who are tasked with the dread errand of denying the sons of Feanaro their prize. Your journey's end is fraught with peril."

"Maybe Miston," replied Haldir. "Nevertheless, I must return to them, and would therefore have my friends enhearten me to the task at hand."

"Then perhaps this will lighten your heart," said Candir. "Here is part of the Guard of the Gate who are under my command." He pointed to the rest of the guards who were by the bridge's entrance. At least five stood there. "We will all come with you if you ask it, for I deem it unwise that you should go forth to meet Celegorm and Curufin alone."

Haldir smiled. "Do not worry Candir, there is no need to bow, though I am grateful indeed for your generous offer. However, the king himself offered me his protection but I refused him as I refuse you now. The princes shall be wrathful enough at my tidings. I need not bold warriors in tow whose grim presence may only serve to needlessly heighten their anger. If I come alone to them, meek and lowly in manner, then pity might stay their ire from overflowing to rash deeds. The less swords that are about, the safer it shall be for me I think."

The two guards looked at each other for a moment, then Candir turned to him. "You speak gravely son of Falathar," he said with a sigh. "However, let Miston and I walk with you awhile. You could at least grant yourself the company of friends upon the long road."

To this Haldir gladly assented and so they began forward, walking down the gentle slope towards the waiting bridge. As Haldir passed over the stone structure, the guards there saluted him with solemn respect, but remained where they were at Candir's command. Upon crossing, Haldir looked southward and could see again the great mound of the rocky hill of Menegroth, rising above the forest line as a huge boulder of rock that was cast there by some great giant of old, unsettling the uniformity of the surrounding green vista. Its eastern face was tinted with the early morning sunlight splayed across its craggy face, yet westward the rock darkened in the morning shadow.

The Bridge of Menegroth could not be seen from there as half a mile down the river curved sharply to the left. Ahead lay the great forest of Region that covered all of Doriath from the south, to the east and somewhat to the north, leaving only the north westerly lands to the beeches of Neldoreth. Of many different kinds of trees was that great forest, though it were less inhabited by the elves as it's dense woods offered only a few open spaces. Yet the folk of Arthorien knew more of that forest than all others who dwelt in Doriath, as they loved at times to roam its many hidden paths when they tired of the great oaks of their homes.

Haldir came to the bridge's end and with silent bows, passed the guards that stood under the waving shadows of the alders that began at the river's edge. Their long leaf ridden branches bent over, shadowing the waters of the Esgalduin that lapped upon the eastern shore. Behind the shoreline, the land rose steeply to the ridge-like summit that overlooked the river valley. The road greatly narrowed as it climbed the steep bank, rounding small hilly outcrops covered in mosses and bracken of large feathery fronds. The path was pitted and gullied by the recent storm, yet Haldir now noted that it was usually well tended, as it were bordered by white rocks, covered here and there with dark green lichen. A sprightly stream ran down the right hand of the tree shadowed path, gathering at stony intervals in brimming pools that flowed over mossy brims to skip on downward towards the river.

Soon the path emerged from the leafy shadows to the high bare tor upon the craggy ridge, where tiny four-leaved allseeds grew, peeping among the rocks and boulders. Turning back westward, Haldir looked upon the great vale of the river which itself could only be seen as a dark lined shadow amid the waving green treetops. The alder forest followed the Esgalduin's eastern shoreline in a dark band almost three miles wide, from the northern marches that looked towards the ancient stone bridge of Iant Iaur, to the inflow of the Esgalduin into the mighty Sirion. Further westward stood the beeches of Neldoreth, growing in great clusters amid rolling meadows, and fair greenswards.

Southward was the bare stone hill, rising from the green sea of alders as a humped mass of grey. Beyond that lay the vast southern span of Region, stretching at its widest point for one hundred and fifty miles, from the banks of the Sirion nigh to the Oak forest of Nivrim in the west, to the southward flow of the River Aros nigh to Arthorien in the east. From the bridge of Menegroth to the westward bound Aros in the south, Region stretched for almost eighty miles, and most of that forest was made up of holly trees.

Haldir turned northward and beheld the dark greenery of tall pine trees that covered most of northern Region between the Esgalduin and Aros. They stood as the final vestige of the highland pines of Dorthonion that lay sparsely over Dor Dinen, only to grow abundantly again as a dense forest under the power of Melian.  
He looked to the east where the oak forests of his home lay, almost seventy miles away. The alder forest stretched on before his sight, before petering out into a sprawling walnut forest that continued into the hazy distance. The dwarf road led down from the rocky height and disappeared under the swaying alder roof.

Haldir turned to his friends and found them watching him. "One has a fine view from here," he commented. "When last I stood upon this spot, the great storm was brewing overhead and all was dim under a heavily laden sky. Yet today is as bright a morning as any could ask for."

He closed his eyes, turned to face the warm sun and took in a deep breath of the crisp air. After sunning himself awhile he looked about him, noting again the great boulders that sat there, all chipped and cracked through the ponderous weathering of time. Strewn about their shadows were grey rocks and stones and eyes that stared back at him! Haldir started upon seeing the silent figures that sat in the shadows. His two companions laughed when they saw his surprise.

"A fine clear view indeed!" said Miston. "So clear that you failed to see those of the River Valley Guard who sit under your very nose."

"River Valley Guard!" Haldir exclaimed. "There were no such guards when I came, unless I missed them in my haste."

"Nay, you did not miss them," said Candir, "for there was no such guard when you came, as there was no perceived peril. Yet that has changed and Doriath shall be much different than it was." Candir now came to stand before the wood elf with a stern look upon his face.

"Vigilance Haldir," he said. "All the woods that swept by under your sight shall be filled with the vigilant eyes of our warriors."

"Indeed, the preparations have begun," Miston put in. "Since yesterday we have been on the move, setting up guard in designated areas. Bridges, hills, highlands and valleys are all to be manned, not to mention the very trees themselves. Nay, the sons of Feanaro will not catch us sleeping. If strife indeed comes of this grave matter, we shall be well prepared to face it."

Haldir sighed and looked back at the silent guards who now rose and came forward, passing out of the shadows to fully reveal themselves in the sunlight. Candir and Miston gave their greetings and spoke to them in low voices. Then the guards solemnly bowed before Haldir in a token of grave respect. Haldir awkwardly returned the courtesy as Candir and Miston smiled as they watched him.

"Do not be troubled by their show of respect," said Candir. "They now know who you are and are grateful to have met you. You are to be held in great honour by all in the land. You should not feel embarassed by it."

They then left the guards and continued on down the gentle slope to disappear beneath the green boughs that sprawled towards the flatlands below.

The road broadened again as it levelled and Haldir and his companions swiftly came to the end of the alder trees by a wide fast flowing stream that was bridged by a walkway of logs that were tied together and laid across the divide. On the other side was the beginnings of the darker and denser wood of walnut trees. Their broad trunks stood close together with huge, heavy, twisting branches seemingly intertwining in a thick rooftop of leathery greenish yellow leaves. Under their shadow, the bare ground was strewn with dark brown nuts that were the delight of most of the woodland animals of Doriath. Squirrels paused in their gatherings to stare at the passing elves, while birds of many kinds hopped upon the shadowy green beside them, pecking at seed shells or carrying them off to their high nests.

Hardly any bushes or shrubs grew beneath the trees and Haldir espied many deer with their fawns silently browsing on the grass and nuts through the trees shadowy vista. There came sudden sounds of quick movement, and Haldir glimpsed wild boar as they foraged. Yet ever and anon they would raise their wide snouts, sniffing for danger, being constantly wary of the elvish hunt. The faintly pungent smell of walnut leaves scented the forest airs all about, for the trees grew even to the Aros that flowed by the borders of Arthorien, where the elves harvested the seedlings for many uses in food preparation and in the making of wine.

Haldir was indeed glad of the company, for Candir and Miston spoke freely with him, discussing the interesting policies of Menegroth. They also had many amusing stories to tell that had the trio laughing as they walked, while the day passed and the shadows deepened. They had travelled for over forty miles with only two short rests, when they finally gave thought to where they should halt for the night. It had taken Haldir a swift journey of a night and a day to traverse the distance from Estolad to Menegroth, but he had only been a simple wood elf then, fearfully spurred on by the threatening urgency of the sons of Feanor. But now he was a messenger of the King of Doriath, ordained with the king's trust, and seen off in honour by the lords of the land. The two princes would have to wait a little longer for their _simple_ errand runner's return. He would rest the night!

It were early evening when they came to a large pool that stood a little way from the road on its southern side. That place was named Linidh (Pool of Rest), for of old the dwarves had always camped there during their time of travel to Menegroth. It had been a suitable lay-by for the dwarves as it was a rare open place in the woods that was also near the road, and a day's journey from Menegroth that stood almost fifty miles away.

The trio found a company of elven warriors already encamped beside the pool, and these rose to greet them. Once again Haldir was shown a level of respect when his errand became known, and the uneasiness that came with his thoughts of meeting Celegorm and Curufin again, returned to his mind.  
It was however a beautiful summer night that was lit by bright stars in a moonless sky, casting a strong silver light over the open glade beside the pool's dark waters. The grasses about were thick and soft, and Haldir lay down comfortably amid the long stemmed night flowers whose white star-like petals lit up with a dreamy translucent hue. He stared with wide appreciating eyes at the glittering stars with legs crossed and hands behind his head.

The splendours of Menegroth were very great, but the real wonders of Doriath to Haldir's mind, lay in the simple beauty of the blossoming woods in early spring, the sparkle of the rivers in high summer, the ruddy forest hue of approaching autumn, the icy beauty of snow clad winter and most of all, the lofty wonder of silver laced night under the bright flames of Varda. He took a deep breath, taking in the sweet scents of the starlight flowers, the fresh grass and the walnut leaves, faintly pungent in the cool airs. How he remembered the long ages under the stars before the Dark Power of the north was returned, and naught was known of war or Silmarils. Only gentle peace had reigned. It was a lost time of blissful song and cheerful banter; of playful ease and tranquil pleasures.

Haldir sat up and looked about him. The grass gave a low rustle in the night breeze and the dark pool's surface was a wavering reflection of the heavenly beauty of Varda's unequalled labour. About the water were remnants of restful dwarven works. Their fair stone carved seats still bordered the pool and further away were low shelters whose grey stone shone pale in the starlight. All about were the black shadows of the trees, rising tall with limbs gently swaying in the night. In the Ages of Stars, the surrounding walnuts would have looked down upon the pool and seen the Naugrim lay themselves down to rest, speaking with low voices or singing in deep tones in their strange tongue that they taught to none.

Haldir had known many dwarves and had even befriended a few. But now they were either slain or came no more to Doriath because of the grief that lay between their races. Yet in recalling those lost times of bliss and friendship, Haldir's heart was pained. He was in truth a gentle elf of good heart, who reckoned little of grudges or stern oaths. So moved was he by his recollections of melancholy that he soon rose, unable to lie in that place where old friends who were now sorrowfully regarded as enemies had once rested. He made up his mind to travel on through the night as he did not want his growing dread of meeting the princes to continually rankle in his mind.

Candir and Miston came towards him from where they had been conversing with their comrades in the elven company.

"Is something amiss Haldir?" asked Candir. "You seem troubled."

"I cannot rest here any longer," replied the wood elf, "for I am afflicted by sad memory and fearful anticipation. My heart chafes to be done with this errand that is laid upon me. Therefore I must leave you now."

"But you need not go alone Haldir," said Miston. "We really mean to accompany you all the way to Estolad. If you do not want us with you when you meet with Celegorm and Curufin, we shall at least be nearby, being ready at hand if things should go ill."

"Nay! Nay!" cried Haldir. "I meant what I said my dear friends. I am moved by your concern but I must face the princes alone! I do not want even the rumour of defiance to poison our grim meeting. Nay, I shall leave you here for I need the miles ahead to steel myself without your reassuring presence. Please understand this."

Both Candir and Miston sighed and nodded their assent. They then called the rest of the elves to gather about them. "Soldiers of Doriath!" cried Candir. "Our brave messenger now sets off alone on the gravest of errands. Let us show him honour!" They all bowed low and gave the wood elf their salute. Haldir bowed before them and turned away, heading for the road. Once there he embraced Candir and Miston.

"Forgive my folly that would deny me your company, yet I would ask a favour of you both," said Haldir.

"You have only to name it," said Candir.

"I beg you to await my return here. If all goes well for me, I would share the joy of my relief with you all the sooner."

Candir nodded, "Then we shall await you here son of Falathar. Go now with the grace of the King and the protection of the Valar."

Haldir bowed again, then turned from his friends and vanished into the darkness.

On he went, evermore swiftly than before under the shining stars. The night was getting old when he finally came to the Aros, a wide river whose black waters swept calmly by under another bridge of stone spanning four mighty arches. There were shadowy sentinels who again bowed wordlessly to him, as did those upon the other side. The dark walnut forest was now left behind on the river's western bank.  
To the north lay the dim open grassy plains of Himlad. Ahead, the grey ribbon of the road led on east. Southward, stood the northern-most ranks of the trees of Arthorien; giant sturdy oaks that rose from Aros' eastern shoreline, and lined the road all the way to the western banks of the river Celon.

Haldir walked on swiftly as his mood was lightened by the sight of the towering trees of his home. Yet he could not turn aside to his house or to see his friends, for though his heart wished it, his errand would not allow it. The night was now passing and the hours of dawn were at hand. The lands about slowly brightened as birds began their early morning songs. The flowers of night enclosed themselves as the bright day bloomers emerged to the early sun that would rekindle their flaming beauty.  
Soon he could hear the familiar noisy passage of the river Celon, that was less wide than the Aros, yet far swifter. He now approached the last of the four stone bridges made by the dwarves for Doriath. It stood tall, spanning two high arches over a gorge whose churning waters rushed into the Aros seventy two miles downstream, where the southerly stretch of Arthorien began. At the bridge's entrance stood another company of armed sentinels who silently, yet respectfully let him pass. The sun only now began to climb over the eastern horizon; its dazzling arms tinting the oak leaves with gold above the cold waters below that rushed on under the cliff's shadow. The oaks stopped their march by the gorge's western edge but the eastern shore was bare, rising in gentle slopes to the rolling grasslands of Estolad.

Before him, at the far end of the bridge, stood the last gathering of guards to be assigned to the great dwarf road. They were many, some sitting and others standing upon both sides of the bridges exit, with long spears in their hands whose sharp tips glinted in the infant light of dawn. When they saw Haldir draw near to them, those who were seated rose to their feet. Haldir slowed as he came upon them but they stood aside, putting a clenched hand to their armoured breasts and bowing low in grave respect and courtesy. Evidently tidings of his coming had reached them from Linidh.

As the wide eyed elf passed, one among them called to him. "May the protection of the Valar go with you!"

Haldir paused a moment and then bowed low. "I thank you _maethor_," he replied. "And I pray that their wisdom shall abide with me and with those whom I go to meet." With that, he turned and continued on eastward.

He followed the rising road as it climbed away from the vale of Celon and at the top of the sloping ridge, stopped to take in a deep breath of the morning air. To the far north, he could see the dark line of the river as it came down from its source and passed under the western eaves of the dark enchanted wood of Nan Elmoth. He turned back towards Doriath and saw the bridge, now left far behind, and his elven sight could just make out the soldiery of Doriath who now guarded the way. Haldir sighed nervously as he turned away from the comfort of his home and people, and continued on his journey. The terrain began to dip and rise in shallow empty valleys, and he followed the undulating road for another five miles until he came to the base of a wide and deep depression. The dwarf road led on into the distance, climbing the valley's eastern ridge and disappearing over its lip. It would go on to meet the great road that came down from the ford of Arossiach in the north, to the stony ford of Sarn Athrad in the east, and on even to the dwarf cities over the Ered Luin.

Haldir's way however now took him southward over the roadless plains of Estolad, for he hoped to come to the place of his meeting with the sons of Feanor from the north. He followed the shadowed bay of the green valley for a few miles before climbing to the morning sun that shone upon the height of its eastern crest. The valley continued on southward but began to veer to the west, heading back towards the vale of Celon. Eastward, the land continued to rise gently, and the vegetation became steadily richer and denser. He was coming to the fertile lands that of old had enticed the Edain to settle. Yet their dwelling places were still far away, clustered together in a lush wide valley to the south west of where he stood.

On he went, going dead south now, passing through hazel woods whose nut strewn grounds were teaming with the gentle woodland life of birds and squirrels. He passed small pools where narrow streams halted in shady hollows, bordered by deep green grass and lillie's shining in the morning. There were groves and thickets of aromatic wild herbs and sweet scented flowers, and shadowy grottos, carven into the rocky walls of low hills, decorated in saxifrages and climbing vines bearing fruity berries that were half hidden beneath wide green leaves. It was altogether a pleasant land, sorrowfully becoming evermore desolate as the power of the north spread southward.

By mid-morning he finally neared the region of his fateful meeting. His tread was heavy, mirroring his mood as each step brought him closer to the feared confrontation. His brave words to the king now seemed foolish, as he wished he had assented to the offered bodyguard of protection. And he rued his refusal of Candir and Miston's company, but it was too late now. They were far behind and he was alone, walking towards the perilous end of his journey. He came to a wide grassy slope that looked back west to the oaks of Arthorien that stood by the river Celon far away. That was the selfsame slope where Celegorm and Curufin had waylaid him but three days ago. He shaded his eyes as he looked about him for a sign of their approach, but there was nothing.

The open west dipped to the river valley before him; green fields rolled on to the south, the plain continued its rise behind to the east and the lush woods through which he had just come were to the north, all under a clear blue morning sky. A sudden weariness came over him and he sat heavily upon the ground. He began to think of his words to the two princes pertaining the king's decision, and of how they would receive the news. The grim tales of the Kinslaying now came to his mind, filling him with dread at the thought of those fey sons and their father raising their swords against the Teleri in the Blessed Realm.  
Haldir shuddered at the thought. _"Could it be that I also shall fall under the fey blades of Feanaro's sons?"_ he asked himself. Swiftly was he answered for at that moment there came the sound of hooves beating the ground in rapid approach.

He stood and anxiously turned to look up the slope. Twelve horsemen were bearing down upon him and he recognised the two princes riding ahead of the others. He summoned his courage and awaited their arrival. Soon the two princes reined their steeds before him while the other ten riders surrounded him in a wide circle. The wood elf looked about him fearfully, returning the riders stern glances with wide frightened eyes.

Celegorm dismounted and strode forward to face him. "You have been long gone Haldir, and have kept the sons of Feanaro waiting in the wild for four days! It is hoped the news you bring shall appease our mood."

Haldir made no answer, for the many eyes that stared unsettled him greatly.

Celegorm read his discomfort and turned to the riders. "Canyo!" he cried. "Take the others and return to the camp and make ready to leave."

A stern looking elf gave a command and the ten riders turned about and rode away back up the slope and disappeared over its far rim. Now Haldir stood even as before, with Celegorm standing before him and Curufin seated upon his great steed, eyeing him darkly.

"Well Haldir, I take it you delivered our message to Dior your king?" said Celegorm.

"I did my lord," said Haldir.

"What then is his answer?" he asked.

Haldir did not reply but looked at the two princes as one who is loath to give an undesirable answer to an eager question.

But Celegorm swiftly grew impatient. "Come now wood elf! Enough of your fearful silence! What says Dior of Doriath in answer to the claim of the sons of Feanaro?"

Haldir sighed, knowing the time to speak had come. He therefore summoned all the courage that was in him.

"My lords," he began. "I did as you bid and delivered your message to Dior my king who upon receiving it, acquainted himself with your written word. He then summoned the lords of his realm to council where they long discussed the matter. However, when all was said, no final agreement was reached. The king later put the question to all the people of his realm, yet after much debate, still nothing was decided. I was therefore bidden to return to you and say this: In this weighty matter, the king's answer at this time is to be neither yea or nay. However, think not that he keeps the Silmaril in defiance of the claim of its true heirs. The king rather pleads for a time of respite to further discuss with his people the Silmaril's release, and to better prepare for the jewel's final departure from his realm. May you not grant him this request until such time as he is ready to meet directly with you, the lords of Feanaro's house?"

Haldir stood with bated breath, his eyes switching from one prince to the other, watching their reaction to his words. Yet Celegorm only turned to Curufin and they looked silently at each other for a long moment.

Then Curufin dismounted and came to stand before the wood elf. "So you now tell us that Dior would have the sons of Feanaro await his word in the wild for _four days_, only to return a verdict of neither yea or nay! What is the meaning of this dark elf?"

His nerves were racing, yet Haldir looked Curufin straight in the eye. "The king only asks for more time to make his decision, that is all!" he answered.

"More time!" spat Curufin. "For what does Dior need _more time_? Were not our words plain enough in our message? What more could anyone require in this matter to understand our purpose and our claim! Yet Dior and his people would ask for _more time!_ Time to have us return to our wandering in the southlands to their amusement, while they would further boast at our backs in having tamed the sons of Feanaro into submission! Are we to be left waiting upon the word of a half breed king's fancy to restore us our birthright? Tell me, what king is he who rules by proxy of his people's word, and follows not his own mind in matters? His lords do not agree in council, yet he goes to his people for answers, who also are of no aid, being conveniently divided in mind. Yet what of his own counsel in this matter? Is he not the heir of Thingol whose word rules all in Doriath?"

Curufin took a step towards the wood elf with glinting eyes and raised a pointing finger. "I do not believe that Dior is as powerless as you would make him! Neither do I believe that he seeks a delay so as to further debate the yielding of our father's jewel. Perhaps you lie to us as he in truth seeks to withhold the Silmaril, desiring it for himself and the glory of Doriath!"

Celegorm, who stood by, intently watching Haldir, now put a hand upon Curufin's shoulder and held him back.

Then he turned to the wood elf. "Does my brother strike near the truth in what he says? Do you now stand before us and lie to our faces about Dior's true intent in this matter?"

Haldir's heart leapt in fear. "Nay lord!" he exclaimed in his panic. "I speak truthfully and but relay the words of the king that I was bidden to say to you. Nothing more have I added or kept hidden or falsified!"

There was an ominous silence as Haldir stood quaking under the stern gaze of the princes. The early sun shone bright and clear, yet it seemed to him that a shadow descended that dimmed the morning in his eyes. The two horses seemed distorted, becoming great beasts of menace with flaring nostrils and grinning teeth. The two princes appeared as shadowy forms with merciless eyes that flamed with terrifying purpose, and in their hands were raised swords that blazed with a cold fire. Haldir took a step back from the dread of the sudden vision, yet even as he blinked in fear it was gone, and there were Celegorm and Curufin sternly regarding him under the thankful morn of day.

Celegorm finally broke the silence. "Perhaps I might believe you," he said slowly and softly. "Yet Dior's lack of clarity in this matter raises a suspicion and doubt in my mind. To say either yea or nay was all that was required of him, yet he opts for a third way that would further hold us in waiting while he still keeps our jewel. I wonder if he seeks to be guileful with the sons of Feanaro? If so let him beware, for we have reached out to him in good faith in this grave matter that touches us near. Courtesies we have shown him that of old were unthinkable to us when dealing with one who withheld a Silmaril from our grasp."

"You may be assured lord Celegorm," said Haldir, "that my lord Dior does not seek to cheat you of your birthright. He requests only for more time in council with his people, as he would have the agreement of all his folk ere he gives you any answer."

"And for how long does your king deem we must be in the waiting?" asked Celegorm.

"I do not know my lord," said Haldir. "However, if I may be permitted to suggest the coming of spring to be as good a time to return. The winter months are perilous as the cold grows evermore bitter with each year."

There was another long pause before Celegorm spoke. "I am not at all pleased with this new arrangement... yet I shall yield only this once!"

"What then would be your answer lord?" asked Haldir with hope.

"It shall be as Dior so wishes!" assented Celegorm with an acknowledging wave of his hand.

Haldir could not disguise his great surprise but Curufin turned to his brother in dark anger.

"What is this you now say?" he cried. "Does my brother, _a very son of Feanaro,_ now give in to the demands of the foes of his house? Do you now cede to sworn enemies that are declared so by our Oath? For that is what the Sindar of Doriath have become to us... _sworn enemies_! Yet I see that you are now to be gainsaid by that young whelp of a king, who seeks to order our return as wayward princes; gently rebuked for daring to rightfully claim an heirloom that is unjustly withheld against all goodwill and just laws of inheritance! Tell me Turcafinwe, where is the _strong will_ that you are so named after! Let not the gentle bearing of this errand runner soften your mood into easy understanding and pity! He is now our enemy as are his king and his people... and soon shall they know it!"

Now Curufin turned to the wood elf and swept out his sword. It shone with a cold glint in the bright sun as its sharp edge cut through the air and its point was levelled at Haldir's chest.

"Yet you shall be the first of your folk to fall!" he sneered.

Haldir's eyes widened as the dark vision flashed again before his eyes. Fear gripped him, yet he willed his shaking hand towards his sword hilt in preparation to valiantly defend himself, though he knew he was certainly no match for the prince.

But Celegorm withheld his brother's sword-arm. "Stay your hand Curufinwe! Let not your hot temper over-rule all wisdom! What would you now do? Slay this simple elf who but relates to us what he was so ordered by his king? And then what next would you do? Ride through the great forest with sword held high, hewing a path to Dior's very throne? Nay my brother! We came not to fight, nor is it my wish that this matter should ever come to raised swords. We seek only for peaceful solutions as we have all suffered great defeats of late. It would be folly to further lessen our hosts by fighting amongst ourselves whilst the orcs of Morgoth who are the enemy of all, roam at will about the lands. In this I deem the king's will to be to our eventual benefit in that he only seeks a further delay so that he might persuade his people to surrender the Silmaril, not to keep it."

Celegorm turned to the trembling wood elf. "Therefore we shall return to our people and wait awhile as Dior has requested."

Curufin made as if to speak but Celegorm shook his head. "Nay Curufinwe! I will not be gainsaid in this. We shall let the matter rest."

He turned back to Haldir. There was a glint in his eye. "For now!"

With that, he swiftly mounted his steed. "Haldir! This is farewell, yet we may meet again whatever the circumstance may be! Tell your king that we have heard his word and so return to our lands. But let him know that we shall return to Doriath with the coming of spring to end this matter once and for all!"

Haldir bowed low in courtesy and gratitude and utter relief. "I owe much to your grace my lord, and pledge that your word shall reach Dior my king!"

But Curufin who still stood before Haldir suddenly raised again his blade to Haldir's chest.

"Curufinwe! Sheath your sword!" cried Celegorm.

Curufin was unmoved and Haldir could see his death in the elven prince's eyes. He made a silent prayer to the Valar.

"Do as I say _Curufinwe_!" said Celegorm fiercely.

The wood elf held his breath and closed his eyes, waiting for the ghastly thrust of steel. The blow never came for Curufin slowly lowered his weapon. Haldir opened his eyes and passed a hand over his unharmed breast. He suddenly felt a weakness so acute that his legs almost gave way.

"We ride for home!" said Celegorm.

Curufin turned back to Haldir. "Soon dark elf!" he said with a mocking smile. "Soon!"

He sheathed his sword and leapt onto his horse. "Farewell!" cried Celegorm as he turned and galloped away up the slope. Yet Curufin spurred his steed in Haldir's way and the wood elf only just managed to summon enough strength to leap aside as the fey prince swept by. Then Curufin turned to swiftly follow after his brother, laughing as he rode. Haldir stood for a long moment, fighting the feeling of sickness that had come over him. He was still trembling at the thought of how close to sudden death he had come. Were it not for Celegorm, he would surely have been slain by Curufin. He closed his eyes and gave a prayer of thanks for the mercy and the luck. Then with a trembling sigh, he made his way down the slope back towards Doriath. It was almost noon and the overhead sun shone brighter than ever before to Haldir son of Falathar in that hour.

At the top of the slope, Celegorm and Curufin reined their horses beside each other.

Curufin placed a hand on Celegorm's shoulder. "That went well brother, though we received not the Silmaril we came for."

Celegorm watched the receding figure of the wood elf making his way down the slope. "All may have been as you foresaw Curufinwe, yet the deceit of our planned response was little to my liking!"

Curufin nodded. "Indeed Tyelcormo, such is your wont to openly speak your mind and forcefully have your way in things. Yet guile is needed at times in delicate matters such as these. And is that to be wondered at? It was plain to my mind that Dior would not say yea to our claim for he is an early king, filled with the adolescent pride of a stripling prince who has newly come to power. It was easy to fathom that such as he would covet the jewel. Its power and beauty are very great and such that he would not lose, being enamoured of it! Yet he would not say nay either for his grasping kind are cowardly at heart, lacking the courage to declare their bold intent! To say neither yea or nay, yet plead for a time of respite was the only fitting choice left to his simple mind. A lame bid to fool us into a delay in pursuing our purpose! _"I shall send them back to their lands in doubt with humble words and sincere-like pleas that might cozen their Oath to sleep again!"_ thought Dior the young fool!

Yet he understands not the sons of Feanaro. He knows not the drive of our Oath that guides us! We are unlike the uncouth dark elves he knows and rules! The simpletons of Ossiriand and the meek denizens of the trees and caves of Doriath. His ignorance shall ultimately be his undoing, for we can also be guileful. Yet far more so as he shall soon see!"

"Is it therefore to be reckoned that the wood elf was deceived into believing my sincerity in agreeing to await Dior's answer?" asked Celegorm.

Curufin smiled. "You played your part well Tyelcormo. Injecting _such understanding_ to my anger! To him you are the solemn wise lord, who saved his life and gave pleasing counsel that adhered to his own king's wishes. I am but the villainous brother, whose black anger was checked by your overriding authority. That thought shall play out all the more in his simple mind, and his belief in it shall strengthen his conviction to our purpose when he recounts our meeting to his lords and his king. Few shall disbelieve or doubt his word. He shall give a good report that shall cozen them into a false sense of ease, dulling their vigilance whilst we swiftly prepare ourselves!"

Celegorm looked at his brother, "Indeed our father named you well _Curufinwe_, for you are truly skilled in mind, word and craft! But enough! Let us go for we have much to do!" Celegorm took a last glance at the far receding figure that was now on the very edge of his elven sight. Then he spurred his horse on with Curufin riding at his side.

The knights of the princes households were just ended in the clearing of their camp when Celegorm and Curufin rode in.

Celegorm gave a shout, "The time has come to return to Amon Ereb with all speed! There is much to prepare for!"

Canyo turned to a comrade. "What do we prepare for I wonder?"

But Celegorm heard his words and turned to him. "For war Canyo! We go to prepare for war!"

* * *

Author's Commentary:

Well this is the chapter that has been hardest to write so far.  
It starts with the council just ended and the lords tell their people of the rising situation and their decision to keep the jewel. Some might say I cheated by having the Doriathrim agree with their lords decision a little too easily, considering the arguments made by some of the lords in the previous chapter. Its a fair enough assertion, but I would think that the lords would understandably have been overly protective of their people, readily assuming that no-one would have the stomach to defend their realm yet again in war. It would be far easier to give in to the demands and keep the peace.

In actually asking the Doriathrim however, the lords find to their surprise that they misjudged the masses who are bolder and sterner than was thought. After all, the woes they have all come through serve to strengthen their wills, turning them into a people who do not take anything for granted any more. They've come through a very dark patch in Doriath's history and through sorrow, tears, toil and sweat, have successfully rebuilt their realm. There would have been a certain amount of pride that would have somewhat emboldened them, I think. Also, don't forget the power of the Silmaril that's giving them hope, courage and strength of purpose.  
Manipulation? Probably... but strictly for the will of Good!

So we come to the question of the infamous non reply that Dior gave.  
I've always wondered what that truly meant. As I see it, there are two sides to the dilemma.  
The First Choice:  
We could take the non reply to mean that Dior got the message and was so incensed by the fact that the sons of Feanor had the nerve to send a claim to him over the jewel which his parents had both suffered much to retrieve, no thanks to Celegorm and Curufin. Therefore being angered, he scoffed at their claim and sent it back unanswered as he utterly refuses to dignify their request with a single word in reply.  
He then takes little to no advice on preparing to defend against an assault that might be forthcoming, thinking the Feanorim would not dare to fight with other elves again. Of course, he's wrong and that's how the Feanorrim come to Menegroth unawares and there ensues the fight for the jewel.

The Second Choice:  
We could take the non reply to mean that Dior got the message and saw that the time had come to either openly defend the fate of the Silmaril from the princes or to cower before them and regrettably give it back. He is not incensed but saddened because, being far-sighted and wise, he pities his people whom he shall have to call upon to fight. But he also pities the sons of Feanor who are driven by an Oath they all secretly abhor, that would have them commit terrible acts whether they would or no. Therefore, he has a council with his lords and after all is shown, it's agreed that they are to keep the Silmaril. They are not keeping the jewel out of greed, defiance or righteous pride but because it's ordained by Eru that the fate of the Silmaril isn't to return to the house of Feanor, but to end up in the heavens. In realising this, the Doriathrim therefore begin preparations for the coming confrontation.

But what of being caught unawares in the middle of winter?  
If one chooses the second choice which I have done, this point becomes difficult to solve as the Doriathrim would obviously be on alert. How then could the sons of Feanor along with their army get through Doriath's defences and so come to Menegroth unseen?  
Well first, Dior tells Haldir that he's not saying "Yes" to the princes claim, but neither is he saying "No". That can therefore be construed as not giving an answer.  
By doing this, he's trying to buy a little time of doubt from the Feanorrim by having them wait and return only in later months when he would be far better prepared to meet them, be it in battle or otherwise. The sons of Feanor however mistrust Dior from the start and see through this plan. However, they play along with it and return to Amon Ereb saying they shall wait. This way they trick the trickster and quickly gather for war before the Doriathrim are fully prepared.  
It's a little weak but I don't see any other way of doing it. In my opinion Dior can't be the rash king of the first choice. He was the son of Beren and Luthien, young but very wise and noble. Indeed he's called "Aranel" which is "Noble elf". Therefore he would have done everything openly and wisely as the people of Doriath had the right to know all that was going on.

Also of great importance is the mode of Medieval warfare. In those days battles were not fought in the winter season because of the dire cold. The morale of any army would be at its lowest and so there was an understanding that all battles would cease until the coming of Spring. This was the mode which Tolkien adopted for warfare in Middle-earth. An example of this would be Morgoth's timing of the Dagor Bragollach. He let loose his war in the middle of winter knowing his enemies would least expect it. Therefore the Sons of Feanor chose this time to attack for that very reason and it worked like a charm.  
So, the story follows Haldir as he journeys through Region to finally meet Celegorm and Curufin again. Their reaction is expected but all goes according to Dior's plan. Celegorm indeed agrees to a time of respite for Dior to make up his mind and overrides Curufin's angry protest. Only after the wood elf has left them, thinking his mission to fool the princes has been a complete success, do we find that it has been a complete failure.

Curufin figured out the ruse even before Haldir came to them. I did this because Curufin to me is Feanor in the story, since all description of him is that he was a carbon copy of his father. Feanor was said to have had the most clever mind of the Noldor, fathoming much of hidden purposes and agendas. His son wouldn't have been different since he inherited most of Feanor's traits.  
Therefore Curufin and Celegorm decide to play along with Dior's plan, making sure that the act of receiving the bad news that Dior is as yet undecided is as realistic as possible. They hope Haldir's innocent belief that Celegorm was honourable in saving his life from Curufin's ire, would have him persuade Dior and his lords of Celegorm's sincerity in awaiting the Spring to return. That way the Doriathrim's urgency would be less in preparing their defence while the Feanorrim would prepare as soon as possible for an attack. That's the best I could come up with to make the story fit the canon of the Silmarillion.

More shall be revealed in the next chapter!


	5. Amon Ereb

**THE FALL OF DORIATH**

**MINYON is Noldorin for "first-begotten" or "first-born".  
TORON is Noldorin for "brother".**

**Chapter Five...  
"AMON EREB"**

The lone hill of Amon Ereb looked far across the southern planes of East Beleriand; a lone sentinel thrust aside from the Andram (The Long Wall) that divided all north Beleriand from the south. That hill had a long history in Beleriand's ancient tale. It was upon its easy slopes and wide summit that Denethor, lord of the Nandor of Ossiriand and all his closest kin were slain in the first of Beleriand's major battles. Following the coming of the Noldor, it became a hill of watchfulness during the long siege; held by Amrod who with his people dwelt in the woods hard by. After the Dagor Bragollach, Caranthir had fled south from Thargelion to join his brother and had further fortified that hill into a place of some strength. Yet after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, all the sons of Feanor now dwelt in the lands about Amon Ereb and the great vale of the mighty Gelion that lay to the east of the hill. Maedhros, the eldest, now dwelt there and built upon the summit a fortress that was but an echo of his great citadel upon the hill of Himring. Still, it was a place of strength where most of the remaining valour of Feanor's people was held.

About Amon Ereb's gentle slopes that looked northward and eastward were many clusters of fair housings with white walls, golden thatched roofing and here and there, small terraced gardens. Yet there were no sprouting fountains or roadside rivulets or sparkling pools that were the delight of the Eldar in their dwelling places, for water was scarce upon the hill and the few wells were rather on the eastern slopes that looked towards the river.  
On the slopes looking westward were ringing smithies and armouries with great stores of weapons for the perilous times. Those slopes also housed the stables for their beloved steeds whose ancient sires were brought to Middle-earth from Valinor. These however were now grievously few as many had perished in the wars fought and so were cherished all the more, as their like were dwindling in the mortal lands through breeding with the lesser horses of Beleriand.  
The slopes that looked south were sparsely housed with storehouses and a few barracks built for the soldiery of Feanor's sons and their knights.

Upon the hill's summit that stood a thousand feet above the surrounding plain, sat the main fortress of Maedhros.  
Tall walls rose from the peak as rectangular blocks that stood side by side, some wider, some taller. Others were built at the summit's very edge while some were built a little inwards, their walls shadowed between their out-thrust neighbours. Others had lofty arched windows peering from their rectangular masses and some had high balconies that looked to the rising sun. The wall's ledges were sheltered by overhanging parapets, pierced by clefts through which archers could shoot, and one looking up could see the elves of the fortress guard upon the high walkways with their spear shafts glinting in the sun.

A broad road led up the hill and passed through the widest wall that looked north through a great arch, whose entrance was closed by a mighty gate that was heavily guarded. Behind it was a dark tunnel that was lit by flaming torches, hung at intervals on the walls. Beyond lay a wide courtyard of soft green grass, bordered by a paved path. Flanking the courtyard was an arcaded walk with doors upon its inner walls that opened to winding passages, stone cut chambers and spiralling stairways that led to the higher floors of the fortress.  
At the eastern end of the courtyard was another arch that led under a further tunnel to a lesser courtyard. Surrounding it's greensward was a small path that was framed with many wooden benches and stone carved seats. At the centre of that peaceful place was a single oblong block, about five feet high, upon which was laid a great slab of black stone.

Upon the slab was graven in Daeron's Runes:  
_"Here fell Denethor son of Lenwe  
Lord of the Nandor of Ossiriand  
Long may he and the many brave knights of his house who fell beside him be remembered.  
May they sleep in peace."_

There was a flight of steps of hewn stone that led up from this inner courtyard to the outer walkway of the second level of the fortress. The landing opened to a wide balcony that looked northwards. An arched doorway led away back into the fortress where the quarters, chambers and halls of the princes and other elite of the Feanorrim stood. Narrow stairways led upwards from this level to high turrets, through whose windows peered watchful eyes. Thus stood the fortress of Maedhros upon Amon Ereb in the days after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

So it was that Maedhros, the eldest son of Feanor now gazed northward from his topmost turret as he had done for many days now since his brothers Celegorm and Curufin had gone.  
His commanding frame stood taller than all his people, with strong yet supple limbs and a mane of russet-red hair falling in a pliant tumble of gentle waves and loose curls even to his waist. His face was very fair, yet tempered with a wisdom that gave him a somewhat solemn expression. Upon his brow was a circlet of copper that glinted with gold in the morning light. He was the perfect blend of beauty, strength and regal nobility of the house of Finwe, coupled with the patient wisdom and understanding of Nerdanel his mother. Verily was he named Maitimo (the Well Formed One).

Now he looked northward to the rolling plains of East Beleriand; his eyes scouring the road that faded into the distant haze as it ran on to meet the dwarf road near Sarn Athrad. Upon the horizon began far woodlands and forests where hunting was ripe and the lands were fair.  
To the west he could see afar the low hills of the Ramdal (the walls end). The hills continued on into the hazy distance, their southerly slopes growing ever steeper until they became the sheer cliff wall of the Andram that would reach the very gorge of Nargothrond some three hundred miles away.  
Eastward stood the vale of the river Gelion. Featureless grassy plains spread wide all about Amon Ereb, yet about the river could be descried the dark green of lush woodlands. A pale ribbon of Gelion's waters could only just be seen, peeping through the far greenery or meandering into view through the folds of the land as it flowed on southward. There was another river whose inflow into the Gelion was half veiled to Maedhros' elven sight. That was the river Legolin, flowing down from the Ered luin whose towering peaks were as a blue outline against the morning sky.

Maedhros turned to the north again, hoping to catch sight of his returning brothers. When news had come to him that the Silmaril was now in the hands of Dior, it was clear the time for holding back their Oath was at an end.  
He remembered how he and his brothers had journeyed to Dor Firn-i-Guinar with a mind to retrieve the Silmaril from Beren and Luthien. There they had beheld from across the river Adurant, Luthien in all her glory as she sang and danced upon the northern shores of Tol Galen. She wore the jewel at that time and even as they had neared that land, they had all felt and seen the rumour of its power that had brought about a wondrous change to the lay of the country. Never had they seen or hoped to see in Middle-earth a land so fruitful, so fair and so filled with light. It were as though they had stepped into a land touched by the very sight of Teleperion and Laurelin in their ancient youth of growth. It were as if they had passed through an invisible barrier, into a country somehow graced with the potent well-being of Aman itself. Dor Firn-i-Guinar was then a blessed realm in mortal lands, upheld by the smile of Iluvatar and protected by the gentle caress of his unfathomable thought.

All six of them had stood silent, mesmerised into inaction by the flame of Luthien's beauty, the enchantments of her song and the blessed light of the Silmaril. All thoughts of their stern purpose faded from memory as the doom of their Oath and it's dark curse lost all power.  
Later, the brothers would admit to each other that it seemed they were returned to Valinor, as the forests of Dor Firn-i-Guinar in that hour were akin to the gardens of Lorien, whose beauty is silent to the page, being too great for the pen of tale. Luthien's song was like that of the nightingales that sung in the willow gardens of Aman, that set their sweet voices like musical rain upon the heads of those who would heed their melody. The waters of the Adurant sparkled dreamily with hues of silver and gold, like the enchanting tree-shadowed lake of Lorellin, whose glistening waters were laced with the restful powers of contentment and peace. And Tol Galen's beauty was like that of the shimmering isle in the midst of the swan lake, where slept Este, the healer of hurts and weariness.

They could not tell how long they had stood by the northern shores of Adurant, helplessly disarmed of all grim intent, and furtively hidden behind the bright vegetation that bent over the swirling waters of the river.

It was Caranthir who had finally stirred out of his gaze and turned to his brothers. "Do as you will," he said, waving his hands and shaking his head, "but I will not set foot upon that isle, nor wrest the Silmaril from that fair maiden. She has bewitched my sight as well as my heart, so that my eyes see too clearly the blissful land from whence I came, and my heart is in anguish because of my Oath and mourns for the release and return to the ease of my former life in the Blessed Realm! Such enchantment is too perilous for me to face, as it may break me and my purpose!  
Therefore let the daughter of Thingol keep the jewel for now. If the rumours be true, we shall not wait long as she is now even as her mortal lover, and therefore doomed to die a second death. Only after her passing shall I be of mind to pursue our father's jewel!"

So said Caranthir, whose words had not surprised his brothers as they all had felt the same strange overwhelming feeling. So they wordlessly retreated and returned to their wandering. Thereafter they seldom spoke again of the incident, and their people did not question them upon seeing their silent return.

But now Beren and Luthien were gone and the Silmaril was given to their son Dior, who had taken up the kingship of Doriath. How would the Sindarin king react to their request? Surely Dior was wise and noble as his very lineage depicted, yet Maedhros was not sure that all would go as was to be hoped. He now felt he had already made his first mistake by permitting Celegorm and Curufin to go with their message. He had thought it better to send Maglor and Amrod who were easier of temperament, and could deal more wisely with the Sindar. Yet it was Celegorm who had first brought tidings of the Silmaril's whereabouts, and such was the vehemence of his desire to go that Maedhros was loath to gainsay him. With Celegorm would go Curufin as those two were hardly to be separated in such an endeavour, but Maedhros had given both stern warnings to check their fiery tempers and treat respectfully those of the Sindar that they met.

Long had he sat in his chamber as the days went by, pondering upon all the perceived outcomes of the matter. If the Silmaril were yielded, all would go well with their plans for renewing their power. The regained jewel would gainsay the grim prophecy of the Valar, and prove that their coming to Middle-earth was not in vain. But if he and his brothers were refused...  
Maedhros was loath to dwell on that side of it, for his wise heart spoke with foreboding to his mind. Ever since word came to him of the Silmaril's return to Doriath, he had been haunted by troubling dreams and visions of starlit Alqualonde and the evil battle he had fought there. He thought of how he had raised his sword against the Teleri of Aman.

He could not forget the ghastly sight of the slain, strewn about the lamp-lit quays, or lying lifeless upon the decks of their swan ships. Remorse for those terrible deeds had never left his heart, and there were times he silently regretted the eagerness with which he had leapt to his father's side to utter the Oath that now bound him to its grim decrees. But even so, there was another part of him that spoke to his heart. A side that had inherited Feanor's inner fire. A side that nevertheless drove him against his wisdom to fell deeds for the honour of his father and his House. He was the eldest son of Feanor who had named him Nelyafinwe in fatherly pride, _The Third Finwe_! He would not fail his father or his people. He could not!

There was a soft knock at the door. "Come!" said Maedhros.

In came an elf who was smaller in stature than most, with a young fair face and reddish hair that was somewhat shorter than the norm among elves. Maedhros turned back to the northern view, hardly taking note of the newcomer as he came and sat next to him.

There was a moment of silence before the elf spoke. "Do you look to the north with anticipation or with foreboding?"

Maedhros turned to him. "What do you mean by _foreboding_. What would I fear from Tyelcormo and Curufinwe's return? They will not fail in delivering our message to Dior, and I deem they shall be answered. I cannot guess as to whether Dior shall say either yea or nay, yet I shall act upon his answer in accordance to whatever my own counsel dictates in the matter. I fear or anticipate nothing, but await only to either receive that which we have requested, or confront he who would withhold what is ours!"

The elf looked long at Maedhros then finally sighed. "I hear you _minyon_," he said. "Ever have we looked to you for guidance, and followed your command since father's death, and you have never failed us, or him. Yet there are times when I would say what is in my heart Russandol, even as Macalaure would sing of what is in his!"

Maedhros looked at the elf with curiosity. "What is this you would now say to me Ambarussa?"

Amrod turned his gaze to the window, staring listlessly at the lofty view. "I never forgave him," he said after a long pause. He turned back to his brother. "Father I mean. I never forgave him for Ambarussa's death."

Maedhros shifted a little in his chair and wondered what had brought on this grave talk from his brother. "Father did not mean for Ambarto to die, that you know only too well. Our brother's untimely death was a tragedy to us all, yet the grief of it lay most heavily upon him. Do you not remember father's mood thereafter? Something of himself was lost after that terrible mistake, and all the more did he embrace the fey fires of his spirit that urged him on to an end unlooked for in those early days of our life in Middle-earth."

"Still," said Amrod, "were it not for his ready hatred for the children of Indis! His disdain even for those who did not turn back from the long hard road, but followed him wholly into exile! Were it not for that would my twin brother still be living. Father would not have commanded us to burn the ships to deny Nolofinwe and his people passage over the sea, and in so doing, murder his own son who lay hidden within, opting for the courageous wisdom to return home! Ambarussa would have stowed away safely upon that ship and returned to Aman to repent of our dark deeds. And though great Belegaer and the enchantments of the Valar would sunder us apart, gladly would I know that he yet lived in peace with our beloved mother in fair Tirion, our long home!"

Maedhros sighed. His thoughts reluctantly hearkened back to that dreadful hour when the Feanorrim had destroyed the ships of the Teleri, and so realised their grave mistake in burning one of their own princes who had thought at the last to repent of his rash deeds. Maedhros himself had taken no part in that terrible act, holding his own in defiance against the wrath of his father. The bonds of an ancient friendship were mercifully stronger to him that day than the daunting commands of Feanor. Yet he felt in part as guilty as his brothers and the rest of their people, who all had the blood of Amras on their hands. Still, the grief of loss would be worst on the sibling who remained, as the bonds of twin births were stronger than was otherwise. So did Maedhros understand well his brother's apparent pain and heartache.

Amrod seemed now to speak softly to himself. "Dearest Ambarussa, my twin in body, mind and heart! Where are you now beloved brother? Do the halls of Mandos still hold your fallen spirit, or are you returned from your time of waiting and dwell now in peace in the Blessed Realm! Truly did our wise mother name you _Umbarto_, in the long years before our fell deeds for the Silmarils. For _fated_ you were! How foresighted was she!"

Suddenly he stood and began pacing the narrow floor in apparent agitation. "Since word came to us of the Silmaril's return to Doriath, I have had disturbing dreams of a past I would sooner forget! The battle with the Teleri at Alqualonde! Mandos in Araman declaring the doom of our people to us! The burning of the swan ships at the Firth of Drengist, and the death of Ambarussa thererin! But that which most haunts my sleep is my declaration of the Oath beneath the fiery lamplight in Tirion! Those uttered words that began all the madness that followed. Words that led to the death of my brother and father! Words that still hound us on unrelentingly to where we are, here and now, upon the brink of fell deeds that would further serve to haunt me!"

He stopped then, as if suddenly realising what he was saying in his ranting. He slowly turned to his brother who looked at him with sad eyes.  
"Forgive me Russandol," said Amrod quietly. "Believe me when I say I will not shy away from fighting for my birthright if Dior refuses us! I am a son of Feanaro, bound by a grave Oath and constrained by my father's dying wish! Yet I would ask to be allowed a little despair for future deeds that may lead to more elf blood tainting my hands." He fell silent and stood with his head bowed.

'So Ambarussa suffers too from the troubling dreams,' thought Maedhros. It was disconcerting as it foreboded a darkness to come for the brothers. Perhaps their dreams portended deeds akin to those evils done in the far past. A heavy weight descended upon Maedhros as he thought of these things, and the grim words of Mandos echoed in his heart.  
_"On the house of Feanaro the wrath of the Valar lies from the West to the uttermost East. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well!"  
TAKEN FROM THE SILMARILLION; CHAPTER 9 "OF THE FLIGHT OF THE NOLDOR"_

'Yet what are we to do?' he asked himself.  
'We hope against hope and continue on unto the bitter end if needs be!' came his mind's grim reply.  
'To the bitter end!' he whispered aloud.

"What was that?" asked Amrod, turning to him with questioning eyes.

"What would you have me say Ambarussa?" said Maedhros, pitying his brother's anguish while masking his own.

Amrod slowly retook his seat. "I would have you say nothing _minyon_," he said with a sigh. "I say only what is in my heart of hearts. A remorse, a regret and a sadness that all needed airing. Yet I would share my heart's sorrows with you who are wisest, and I would have you listen to my lament, ere it fades from my heart to be replaced by the fires of vengeance inherited from Feanaro my father!" He sighed again and bowed his head.

There was a firm knock at the door. "Come," said Maedhros.

Andomahtar, Maedhros' doorwarden now entered. "My lord," he said. "Riders have been sighted to the far north!"

Swiftly, Maedhros rose from his seat and went to the window. There in the distance were black specks upon the far road. He turned and gave a nod, and his doorwarden bowed and left them, closing the door softly behind him.

Maedhros then turned to Amrod who now stood beside him, staring into the distance.  
"I would have you know something that may be of some small comfort," he said. "I too suffer from troubling dreams and visions of a past I would sooner forget!"  
Amrod turned to him in surprise. "Indeed!" said Maedhros. "The burden of sorrow and guilt lies not in you alone Ambarussa but in all your brothers. Some of us may bear our dismay the better, yet do not doubt that the anguish of it is in all our hearts. Therefore do not feel as one who is alone in this, doubting your allegiance to your brothers and your House. Know that I, Nelyafinwe, do not doubt you in the least!"

He looked back to the approaching riders and could now discern their number. They were twelve in all and he knew that Celegorm and Curufin were indeed returned. "But know this Ambarussa," he continued, laying his good hand reassuringly upon Amrod's shoulder. "Our brothers are returned and stern counsels may soon be taken that may lead us to fell deeds. Yet for all we may rue in what is to betide hereafter, remember that we do _all_ for the glory of the house of Feanaro and the fulfilment of our Oath! _That_ is our _true purpose_ in Middle-earth to which we must forever hold, in spite of ourselves!"

Amrod gazed at his elder brother. Always was Maedhros the solid rock to his siblings and his people. Wise in council, stern in command, fearless in war, gentle in affection, venerable as a king, humble as a friend, truly the greatest of Feanor's sons. Amrod as always, felt better for opening his heart to him. Maedhros gave him a nod of reassurance. After a moment Amrod returned it.

There came another knock on the door, followed by the entrance of an elf of imposing stature. He stood tall and was well built of torso and strong of limb. He was ruddy in complexion, with dark brown hair that was parted at the centre, and fell about his shoulders and the small of his neck. He had the faint rumour of a permanent scowl, though this coupled with his face's natural fairness gave him a strangely dark handsome look. Out of the shadow of his somewhat creased brow shone a piercing glance that was unfathomable to the minds eye. His nose was softly pointed and his full lips enhanced his strong masculine features. Thus stood Caranthir, the fourth son of Feanor.

"Tyelcormo and Curufinwe are returned," he said. "Should we not go down and await them in the Council Chamber?"

"Indeed let us go," said Maedhros. "There shall be much to discuss when they arrive!"

They left the topmost turret and passed down a narrow spiralling stairway that opened to a wide corridor. They strode on, passing great windows that brightened the passage with the light of near noon. At its end was a wide flight of steps that declined to the right. A chamber furnished with a large wooden table of exquisitely carved oak with six chairs (two upon each side and one upon each end), was below them. There was a high window on the left wall from the steps that looked to the eastern parapet and the occasional guard that passed by on patrol. Upon the southern wall was spread a huge tapestry from end to end. At its centre was an octagon of eight triangles whose long tips all touched in the middle. Around them was a circle with eight triangular petals like a star. Yet there were four other petals upon the star's diagonals, and these were like red flames that touched an outer circle that surrounded the inner star. That was the insignia of their house. The Star of Feanor.

A door led out of the chamber on the west wall which the brothers ignored as they took to the chairs. Maedhros sat at the head of the table near the east wall, while the others took their seats at the western end, Caranthir to the left and Amrod to the right.  
"Andomahtar!" called Maedhros. His doorwarden who stood by the west door, entered.

"Seek out Lord Canafinwe and bid him come to the council chamber!" Andomahtar bowed yet even as he turned to leave, an elf came to the door.

"There is no need!" he said as he entered and sat at the far end of the table, opposite Maedhros with his back to the door.  
He was a tall yet nimble looking elf of fair skin. His face resembled somewhat that of Maedhros though his features were softer still, mirroring his easy temperament and soft mood. A golden circlet shone upon his brow and his raven-dark hair flowed down in smooth waves to rest upon his shoulders. Thus sat Maglor, the second son of Feanor.

"How far from the hill were Tyelcormo and Curufinwe when last you saw them?" asked Caranthir after a silent moment.

"Not very far," replied Maglor. "A few miles ride still lay ahead of them, but such was their haste that they would outpace the very north wind! They may very well be within the gates by now."

"Then perhaps the news they bring to us is good," said Amras, daring to hope. "Perhaps they hasten with the very Silmaril in their possession!"

Caranthir turned to him. "Or perhaps they _hasten_ to a swift uprising as we have been denied!"

The remark had all heads turn to him and they noted with unease, the relish with which he had uttered it.

But Amrod was in no mood for misplaced jests. "You speak as though you wish it were so Carnistir!" he said sharply.  
Caranthir smiled.

"Peace Ambarussa!" said Maedhros. "There is no need for such guess work as we shall be well informed soon enough!"

There followed a long uncomfortable silence as the brothers sat eyeing each other, or bowed their heads in deep thought as each pondered upon the outcome of Celegorm and Curufin's errand. After what seemed like an age of waiting there came the sound of approaching voices from beyond the western door. It was opened and in came Celegorm and Curufin. The two brothers acknowledged the others with silent nods as they took their seats. So sat the six sons of Feanor from left to right: Maedhros the Tall at the table's head, Celegorm the Fair to his left, Caranthir the Dark, Maglor the Singer opposite Maedhros, Amrod the Twin and finally Curufin the Crafty to Maedhros' right.

"I welcome you Tyelcormo and Curufinwe!" Maedhros now declared. "You have both travelled far and swiftly too by what I witnessed from your hasty approach. Therefore we shall aim not to detain you long in council, as you both may be in need of refreshment and rest. I shall come straight to it! You are returned no doubt with Dior's word. What is the Lord of Doriath's answer to our request!"

The two brothers looked at each other and sighed. Then bitter realisation came upon the others, who shook their heads in disappointment as they guessed the coming answer.

"We are denied _minyon_!" said Celegorm. "Dior still withholds the Silmaril and refuses to yield it to us. Thus we have ridden back with all haste to prepare for the inevitable consequence of his choice!"

A series of emotions passed over the brothers upon hearing Celegorm's words confirm what they had feared. Some were angry, scowling and cursing through gritted teeth as they let fall their clenched fists upon the table. Others stared listlessly, realising that the feared confrontation was now more or less inevitable. Yet Maglor would not let himself be ruled by raw emotion alone, and therefore sought to proceed with wariness.

"And what doom of consequence would that be?" he asked solemnly. He knew of his brothers moods and would quell their inevitable rashness. "Would you speak of a second kinslaying done in the pursuit of a Silmaril? I hope not, for there are other counsels to consider that are far less severe."

Celegorm stood with furrowed brow, a clenched jaw and bright eyes. "And what counsels would these be Macalaure?" he asked in a soft voice. "Would you further pardon Dior's conduct?"

"I did not say that Tyelcormo," Maglor calmly replied. "But _we must_ proceed with all caution. Let us give ourselves time to reflect, allowing wisdom to guide us rather than the awry passions of our hearts."

"_Awry passions of our hearts_?" cried Celegorm. "Nay! I beg to differ!" He straightened and began to declaim, as if he were making a speech long rehearsed.  
"My brothers!" he said. "We have long waited in the wings for the Silmaril to be returned to us. Years ago we sent to that proud king of Doriath, who returned us nothing but scornful words. Now it is known that Curufinwe and I thereafter openly pledged death to Thingol. Yet we need not have vowed for the Silmaril itself did justice to our words. Thus was Thingol slain through consequences of his own making in his desire for the jewel. It was no doubt a fitting end to that defiant king! Yet the Silmaril was thereafter taken by Beren and Luthien! Though all here would agree that we could not take it from them while they yet lived under the protective hand of what could only be Iluvatar himself! Also, we would yet honour those twain awhile, since it were they who rescued the Silmaril from the Iron Crown. However, that Dior their son should now take it up and keep it for his own, disregarding both our Oath and claim, is a thing not to be borne any longer! We _must_ prepare to march on Menegroth, and take _by force_ if needs be, the jewel of our father!"

Silence fell upon the chamber as the brothers took in Celegorm's words. Caranthir sat with folded arms; his piercing eyes glinting at Curufin who looked grimly at Celegorm. Amrod turned his wide eyes to Maglor whose grave expression lay upon Maedhros, who stared down at the table.

Finally he spoke. "All that you have said rings true to us Tyelcormo. However, I would have you tell us _of all_ that befell on your errand to Doriath. For instance, what were Dior's _actual words_ in answer to our claim? Was his refusal so final as to leave no hope of even a parley perhaps, that might lead to peaceful debate in council? Come Tyelcormo, what did Dior say to us in this matter?"

Celegorm turned his eyes to Curufin who smiled faintly and slightly shook his head.

But Maedhros saw what passed between them. "Nay _Curufinwe_!" he said tersely. "Think not to weave your _crafty webs_ here at council! Tyelcormo shall speak _freely_ and _truthfully_ in this, as all of us have the right to hear the full tale put before us ere we make any choice for war. _You_ may not think it a grave thing to raise your sword in battle against others of the Eldar, yet it is not so with me!"

Curufin was taken aback and swiftly rose. "What _crafty webs_ would you now accuse me of weaving Maitimo?" he cried. "Too easily does that scornful term roll off the tongues of elves. _Curufinwe the Crafty_! That is my derisive title to many, yet for what reason am I called so? Am I to be blamed for inheriting our father's subtlety of mind, that would have me scorned by all who would fear my unravelling of their own deceitful thoughts. For think not that _I_ am guilty of choosing to deceive any here. Nay! That my brothers is the province of the _wise _Lord of Doriath!"

He turned to Celegorm and waved him down to take his seat. "Pray let me tell the tale to our brothers Tyelcormo, so they might judge who _truly_ deserves the title of _crafty_ in this matter!"  
Then Curufin proceeded to recount all that had occurred in their meetings with Haldir, and the words of Dior in answer to their claim. When he was done he added, "If any here find fault with our conduct, let him voice his complaint! But know that Dior's plea for more time to consider our claim is but a ruse to foil our purpose!"

It was apparent that not all the brothers were swayed by Curufin's tale, for some still shook their heads in doubt.

"Is this not a deception of your own imagining Curufinwe," said Amrod, "borne of your dislike and mistrust of the Sindar of Doriath? What if you are wrong in thinking so, and Dior does not lie but truly seeks to return our Silmaril in due time. Would not a rash move from us be unwise in this situation, and serve only to cause dissension between our peoples that need not occur if we would but have patience? Why not give Dior the benefit of the doubt, and await the coming Spring. If indeed we are still to receive no clear answer from him, well, I should be first in line to march to Doriath with war."

"I second that!" said Maglor in support. "You _claim_ to have unravelled a hidden purpose, yet you cannot prove this to be true. Dior's messenger confessed to no such planned deceit, though you threatened him with raised sword. Perhaps you were too hasty in concluding so Curufinwe, being dismayed by Dior's answer, and misread matters in your anger."

"_Misread matters_!" retorted Curufin, irked by his brothers soft natures that would hinder at the worst of times when boldness of purpose was required. "What matters would I _misread_! What would _you_ say to me of the unravelling of hidden purposes and deceits. Speak of things you would know, and gainsay not what you little understand. The singing of songs and the strumming of the harp are for you Macalaure. Leave the subtle arts of the mind to me and _take heed_ to what I say! Dior attempts to fool us!" He paused for effect. "And," he added with a directed sneer, "it seems to me that he has somewhat succeeded!"

All the brothers turned now to Curufin with disapproving looks. And even as he said these words he knew he had overreached himself and overly scorned his elder kinsman. He winced inwardly at his folly in letting his frustrations have the better of his hot temper, and speak ill of his noble brother.

But Maglor's temper flared in answer. "Do not seek to ridicule me in council Curufinwe!" he returned with a rare flash of his eyes. "For you are not as _all seeing_ as you would deem. You are indeed subtle in mind. Yet beware that your _dark wisdom_ in this matter shall lead you to a doom of the same hue. For I too have a gift of inner sight! Did you not know?"

At that moment, Maedhros raised his hand. "Enough!" he cried. "There shall be no more arguments amongst ourselves or this council will be of no purpose! Neither shall any brother seek to belittle another in disagreement. _All_ our differing views shall be heard and assessed here as everyone has the right to voice their opinion!"

Curufin turned to Maglor with downcast eyes. "Forgive me _toron_, for I overstepped my bounds and insulted you. My rash words were but the result of a long journey of bitter disappointment. Pray accept now the apology of a wayward younger brother to his most noble elder."

The apology was well meant, for the sons of Feanor harboured a great love and respect for each other. It were a thing Feanor had always been proud of as it were he who had instilled the sense of close brotherhood to his sons. Many viewed this as something he did to counter his own relationship with his half brothers that had failed. The flame of anger in Maglor's eyes dimmed, and his stern expression softened.

After a moment he gave a nod of his head. "I pardon you my brother. Let no grief come between us."  
Curufin then bowed low to Maglor and sat himself down.

Being satisfied with the proceedings, Maedhros continued. "Now as much as I would doubt Curufinwe's thoughts on this matter, I cannot bring myself to wholly ignore his notion. Fate has ever been against us when it comes to the Silmarils, and so it would seem even now. As much as I deem Dior to be wise, I cannot discount the enamouring power of the jewel that might seduce even the most noble to keep it for themselves. That lesson was taught to us by Thingol, to his eventual peril. Yet I am torn between these two counsels: To march in force to Menegroth and confront Dior with the threat of war; or for we brothers to up and ride to Menegroth to a parley, where we might peacefully debate the Silmaril's release. If truth be told I would say the second choice seems good to me at this time."

"And why would that be Maitimo?" asked Caranthir as he rose from his seat as one who is riled into speech. "Why would you continually choose to grovel and beg for the Silmaril... for _our_ Silmaril! Have we not pleaded enough for it? Why do the three of you, Maitimo, Macalaure and Ambarussa, all seem to speak favourably for this Sindarin king? To readily excuse him of going against us, though it is plain he delays in a planned attempt to keep the jewel? _Do you not remember our message_?

We penned our warning, yet showed him honour by greatly humbling ourselves to understating our cause in courtesy! Such was the tone of our written word, that to construe it as _pleading_ in earnest for our jewel would not be far off the mark! Did we not put aside all the pride of our mighty house to beg to that _hybrid king_ of dark elves? Yet our courteous manner was in vain. Our devotion to his wisdom to yield the Silmaril came to naught. It is a lesson to be learnt my brothers! To soften our mood to any in this matter is to embolden them to further defy us! To put forward the hand of truce yields only the back-handed strike of disdain! Never again must we treat the Sindar of Doriath with peaceful intent! The pen yielded nothing to us. Therefore with swords shall we now stake our claim!"

Caranthir had said his piece, and both Celegorm and Curufin nodded their agreement, but Maglor shook his head and stood.

"I would now question how the three of you, Tyelcormo, Carnistir and Curufinwe, speak with such favourable ease for a war between elves. Doubt not the curse we brought upon ourselves in the kinslaying of old. Maitimo speaks truly of fate being ever against us when it comes to the Silmarils. How is it that we always choose to forget the words of Mandos spoken to us on the dark shores of Araman..."

Suddenly Celegorm rose from his seat, interrupting his brother. "Say no more Macalaure!" he cried in anger. "Speak not of the Valar who would have held us back, rendering us deedless in the fight against the great enemy! Those were words that sought to daunt us into a fearful return to their reprimand. Words for the cowardly such as faithless Arafinwe and his folk who turned back. But _we_ were steadfast in our vow to avenge the death of Finwe our grandfather, and the rape of the Silmarils. _Have you forgotten?_"

Now Celegorm softened his voice. "But your words trouble me Macalaure! Should I take it that you have repented of your Oath and laid aside your claim? Have you wilfully consigned yourself to the doomed fall into the everlasting dark that you called upon yourself if ever you were to rescind your vow?"

They both faced each other, their wills fencing through their bright eyes. Maglor seemed calm, and the glow of his gaze was steady as opposed to Celegorm whose stare was fell and piercing, flickering with domineering intent.  
Yet that was where the power of the Oath lay in the princes. In their arrogance, their wilfulness, their overbearing desire for the Silmarils. As much as Maglor tried to fend off Celegorm's searching will, he found to his dismay that he was fighting a losing battle. The dark of the Oath lay in his heart too, and its hold over him could not long be denied. He began to waver as Celegorm's eyes smiled in blazing triumph.

_"Act as aloof as you please Canafinwe,"_ echoed the dark will that was the anguish of Maglor's heart. _"Yet you too uttered the Oath and so doomed yourself to its influence and power. Now fulfil the errand you vowed to pursue and curse in vain!_" Suddenly he faltered, withdrew his gaze and slowly sat down. He was beaten.

Then Celegorm passed his fiery gaze over the rest of his seated brothers. "I do not ask Macalaure alone but _all_ of you! For it seems some have forgotten their words spoken in Tirion long ago. Have the years in Middle-earth softened your moods to meekness; unwilling to reclaim our birthright at the last!"

The brothers remained silent as Celegorm forced them to look within themselves and remember the explicit nature of the vow they took. He forced them to see that they could not hide or turn back from its fulfilment, no matter the cost or length of time it took to achieve. They may have sworn the Oath in a moment of rash madness, yet grievous deeds were afterwards done in its name.

Deeds of evil intent and evil result that could not be forgotten. Deeds that bound them ever closer to its fell doom. Neither regretful hindsight nor heartfelt repentance could turn them aside from their chosen path...their chosen fate.  
It was too late! Upon realising this, some of the brothers grew fearful of the revelation and inwardly despaired, whilst others accepted it in bitterness of heart but were resolute to see their vow through to the very end. So it was with Celegorm. Remorse, regret and bitterness touched him little in that dark hour, for he was the mouth-piece of the Oath. Indeed the Curse of Mandos worked its will to the fullest that day through him, as he incited his brothers to rise up against the Sindar of Doriath.

Celegorm turned back now to Maglor, seeking to further overthrow his doubts. "Macalaure, we all know it is your wont to be soft of mood and patient. Yet you are wise of heart and that is not lost upon us. It were you who restrained us from haughty words in our message, in the hope that courtesy would be rewarded. And we all gave way, hoping that it would prove so. Yet see the result! Instead, our good will is used against us; our mercy is scorned and the Silmaril is withheld! We have attempted your way my brother, but now _we must_ attempt another!"

Maglor looked up at him and seemed to say something, but he suddenly faltered and turned away, as if he were no longer sure of himself.

Celegorm then turned to Amrod. "And I see Ambarussa in disagreement too. My sorrowful brother who mourns still for Ambarto who was taken from us in that terrible tragedy."  
Amrod looked at Celegorm with fearful surprise. "Yea!" said the third son of Feanor. "I know of your grief, for I have seen your tears and heard your lament at such times as you thought yourself to be alone! But know that we all mourn our brother's untimely death, and not a day goes by when his absence is not felt. Yet you who were his twin would feel that grief all the more. But you must understand that our brother died for the cause of the Silmarils.

For had we not been forced to pursue those jewels because of the work of thieving hands, Ambarto would not have taken that dark journey that led to his tragic end. It were the thieving hands of Morgoth then, but it is Dior whom we now pursue! Therefore _honour_ Ambarto's memory by keeping to our purpose without ease or hesitation! Turn the clutch of your grief into the vehemence of undeterred will in the retrieval of that which he perished for. Ambarussa, let not Ambarto's death be in vain!"

Celegorm's words spoke to Amrod's heart, challenging his fears to surrender to the anger and hatefulness of the Oath. The words sought to coax his bitter guilt for his brother's death, and blame the Sindar, the usurpers of the jewel.

Celegorm turned to Maedhros now. "Maitimo, you are the eldest, and are our leader and our guide! Ever is your word final in all we do. Now I see that you would question Curufinwe's notion that Dior seeks to cheat us. Yet why would he still withhold the Silmaril if he truly means to give it up? What would it matter in giving it to us now than in the coming Spring? What does the long winter hold for him that his messenger would suggest against our return during that time? Perhaps he needs that delay so as to hide the jewel, or send it in secret to his Telerin kin who dwell upon the Isle of Balar. Or perhaps he plans to fortify Doriath, knowing full well that we would seek to enter his realm in the end and confront him. You may say that I still but make guesses as to Dior's mind, yet what do we have to lose by going to Doriath with a mind of taking our birthright forcefully?  
Even if we were to march upon Menegroth, we need not fight if he would but yield the jewel at the last. It is the Silmaril we all want, not a war! Yet it is perilous to go with small strength to a parley, for if Dior lies to us, we may be taken or slain. Maitimo... Dior _is not_ to be trusted!"

His words were aimed at the inner fire that Maedhros had inherited from his father. It burned now in his breast, coaxing a dark purpose of fell deeds that would disguise itself as a noble aim to attain glory for the house of Feanor. It seemed to him that his former wisdom were now folly, and what he had deemed as rash was now the right course to take. Seeking a parley with Dior seemed tedious and overly generous, as it were Dior who should seek an audience with him to explain his keeping of the Silmaril. Yet Maedhros attempted to fight these new irrational thoughts that were conjured in his mind. He tried to quell their rising power over him. He was failing...

Celegorm then turned to them all, his proclamations becoming evermore fiercer. "Therefore we _all_ must be of one mind to uphold our Oath of old! For that is what _drives us_ and _protects us!_ We who have survived the perils of war that have nigh slain all the other Noldorin princes! But here we are, _unscathed_, for this very moment and poised upon the threshold of deeds that shall see our father's jewel brought back to his house, and bring about a new beginning for the Feanorrim in Beleriand!"

He drew his sword from its sheath and it rang shrill, flashing with a cold fire. _Tyelcarusse_ was its name in the Noldorin tongue. _Swift Blade_ for a swift arm that was made for him by Feanor his father. The orcs knew of that sword and feared it greatly, yet it would soon become a name of dread to the Sindar.  
"Therefore rise my brothers!" he cried. "Rise and draw your swords as we did long ago in Tirion!"

Now as Celegorm declared these things to them, the potent power of his speech continued to stoke the fires in their hearts, and the Oath that had long slumbered within them was awakened to wrath. Yet as much as it were a grief to some, it took hold on _all_, inflaming that ancient passion that had incensed them to leave Aman and go to war in Middle-earth.  
And as Feanor had bequeathed to each of his sons a part of his own mood, so did the Curse of Mandos stir those very traits that lay in them to evil, and so consigned them to the dark will of their Oath.

For Caranthir the Curse awoke the anger and hatred that were inherent in him, driving his will to support the Oath's evil purpose. Besides Celegorm, he least fought against the desire for war against Doriath, as such was his wont to lean towards rash violence against any who would oppose him.

For Curufin the Curse awoke the arrogance, the sly cunning and ready disdain that were in his character. His will adhered well to the evil of the Oath, as he was after all, truly the son of his father.

The Curse stirred the will of the Oath in Maedhros, inflaming his desires for the rights of his house. It played upon his fears of failing his father in avenging the rape of the Silmarils and his death. Visions of dread were now conjured in his mind's eye. A wraith he saw before him, flaming in form and terrible to behold. It repeated the words spoken by Feanor upon his death, and rebuked him for his reluctance to fiercely pursue the usurpers of his father's legacy to his sons.

In Amrod too did the Curse stir the Oath, causing a darkness to blind his sight. In the conjured night, it seemed he could hear the faint voice of Amras, lamenting his twin brother's failure to recover that which he burned for. Amrod's passions were then stirred and the guilt, fear and despair that he felt were turned to anger, to hate and to vengeance.

In Maglor, the Curse battled the most, for he willed his wise heart to fight back. Yet he fought in vain as the Oath lay in him too, and it soon consumed his resilient will. It played upon his seeming weaknesses that were in truth his strengths. Feelings were conjured that had him view his patient approach to have been foolish, and that Dior and his people now laughed at his back, mocking his courteously worded message in contempt. His softer nature was not an asset but a hindrance, portraying him as a cowardly weakling prince in a house of glorious lords. His doubt lent itself to anger at ridicule, and the words of Curufin to him in council rang mockingly in his ears.

But for Celegorm the Curse and Oath were one with his pride, his strong self will and his ambition. This was his moment, his time to take the lead and do his part to guide his brothers to victory. He would redress the ancient wrongs done to his house. Redress the loss of pride in the house of Feanor and who knows, perhaps even regain the kingship over the Noldor! Yet however it would turn out, the retrieval of the Silmaril would be the first step to glory.

Thus were the princes brought low by their inherited traits of Feanor, their father. For by his deeds in life, had he cursed himself and his family. And the anguish of the Oath that his sons felt in their heart of hearts was almost unbearable in that dark hour. Yet Celegorm set aside all feelings that would hinder him, for he only looked forward to the goal; to the mighty achievement; to the great prize.

"Rise! Rise to drawn swords!" he cried, inciting his brothers to fully embrace the doom of the Oath.

Curufin and Caranthir were now stood with swords drawn, and they took up Celegorm's chant! The room seemed to darken, as though a shadow descended upon the chamber, dimming the light of the sun that shone through the high window. The bright lamplight on the walls seemed to slowly fade into a burning hue of red as the chanting became harsher. Visions came to the eyes of all the brothers: the Oath-taking in Tirion, the kinslaying, the burning of the swan ships. But the dread conjuring's no longer dismayed, but now served to strengthen the dark resolve of the Oath that was in them.

_Anger!_

"Rise! Rise to drawn swords!"

_Hatred!_

"Rise! Rise to drawn swords!"

_Vengeance!_

"Rise! Rise to drawn swords!"

The three seated brothers finally gave in wholly to the shadow of the Oath, and slowly rose as one and drew their weapons. The chanting ceased and they all held their sword tips together over the table, their blades a dull shining red in the blood-light.

Then Celegorm spoke with triumphant menace in his eyes.  
"See here Feanaro our father! See here Ambarto our brother! Bear witness now in death as you did in life! Bear witness to our Oath ere we go to claim a Silmaril!"

Then there, in the council chamber upon the hill of Amon Ereb, did the sons of Feanor retake their Oath of old.

_"Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean,  
Brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,  
Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,_

_Neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,  
dread nor danger, not doom itself,  
shall defend him from Fëanaro, and Fëanaro's kin,  
whosoever hides or hoards, or in hand takes,  
or finding keeps or afar casts a Silmaril._

_This swear we all:  
Death we will deal him ere days ending,  
woe unto worlds end!  
Our word hear thou, Eru Allfather!  
To the everlasting darkness, doom us if our deed fails.  
On the holy mountain hear in witness and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!"_

The lamp lights were suddenly blown out, though no wind or breeze entered that place.

* * *

Author's Commentary:

I suppose the reader has realised that I have six sons of Feanor rather than seven. Well I'm using the version that has Amras perish in the burning of the swan ships, as is described in the Peoples of Middle-earth volume. I'm using the Silmarillion's version as the solid background for this story but modifying things as I see fit by using certain revisions that Tolkien touched upon in his ever developing works. I feel that having Amras die at the command of his own father and at the hand of his people gives the whole Silmaril saga a far more poignant feel. It also gives one the chance of exploring Amrod's feelings about his twin's grievous death.  
So we begin with Maedhros waiting for his brothers return. Amrod enters and they talk for a while. Once again, dreams play their part as the brothers have been having nightmares about their past evil deeds. The dreams are an omen as to the future when they shall repeat those grim acts. Amrod is filled with guilt and longing for his lost twin and he confides in Maedhros about it. Maedhros tries to soothe his brother as best he can though he has his own anguish to deal with.

Celegorm and Curufin return and they immediately have a council.  
Naturally the three C's (Celegorm, Caranthir and Curufin) who are the _darker_ brothers, support the notion for war while the lighter brothers (Maedhros, Maglor and Amrod), are against such drastic action. However in following the canon of the Silmarillion, it was Celegorm who roused his brothers to war, so he must be the antagonist to his _lighter_ brothers easy reasoning. Maglor tries to quell their passions but does so in vain because he's also bound by the Oath.  
My main aim for this council was to show how it's in total opposition to the Council of Dior. In that meeting, the tone is brighter and the power that prevails is that of light and goodness, being the Silmaril. The sons of Feanor's council is of anger, fear and hatred and the power that prevails is that of darkness and evil, being the Curse of Mandos.

Wisdom enlightens the lords of Doriath, hatred drives the sons of Feanor.  
The lords of Doriath see visions of glory, hope and paradise itself while the sons of Feanor see dark and fearful conjuring's.  
The two councils are in complete opposition with each other as the power of good dominates the first, while the power of darkness dominates the second.  
However, I've never viewed the sons of Feanor as being evil. They were high princes of a mighty kindred of elves, The Noldor. They've taken upon themselves a darkness that shouldn't be. They show bitterness, anguish, regret and remorse, yet are spurned on by fate. It's the most grievous tale in all the histories of Middle-earth, the marring of Feanor and his sons.  
I'm therefore trying to show the two sides of the coin in this story and not just portray the so called bad elves as _just bad elves_. There's conflict within them as they are not inherently evil elves but fallen elves of light.  
In the end they retake their Oath and seal their fate as well as that of Doriath. I felt they would have retaken their vow so as to reinforce their decisions and strengthen their resolve.

Anyway, more in the next chapter!


	6. The Sons Of Feanor

**THE FALL OF DORIATH**

**MINYON is Noldorin for "first-begotten" or "first-born".  
TORON is Noldorin for "brother"  
OHTATYERONISSI is Noldorin for the "Warrior Women"  
Please forgive the use of the term _Fëanorrim_ as being used by the characters in this chapter. I did this because I don't know the Noldorin equivalent for "The People of Fëanor."  
If anyone will be so kind as to give me the correct translation, I'll be grateful. Thanks.**

**Chapter Six...  
"THE SONS OF FEANOR"**

The autumn was fast waning and the rumour of a bitter winter approached. The cold months had grown harsher in Beleriand as Morgoth's power waxed. Of late, strong winds had swept down from the north, snatching ruddy leaves from the woods and forests that filled the airs with their fluttering shadows, leaving their forlorn trees unclothed and creaking in the wind. The days were of constant gloom, having long lost the clear sun behind a permanent grey blanket, and both elves and men looked up with foreboding as to the early harshness of the weather. An icy feeler of winter was loosed from the far north and passing over Ang-fauglith, soon made itself felt in all of Beleriand.

Amid the darkly pined lands of Hithlum, the slaves of the house of Hador felt it's wintry bite. They looked up to the grey skies and sorrowfully shook their heads and tightened their rags about them as they toiled for the Easterlings, who stayed their whips and sniffed the cold airs thoughtfully as they tended their warming fires.

The chill breath passed through Taur-nu-Fuin and rolled the haunted wood's dark shadows southwards, extending their coiling gloom over the bare highlands of Dorthonion that further deepened the colourless grey of the silent heaths and rocky moors of the land.

The cold swept over the Echoriath that surrounded the hidden city of Gondolin, and set its chill upon the plain of Tumladen. Yet the Gondolindhrim were not daunted by the coming winter, for hope was always high in their hearts. Such was the protection of the shielding mountains and the glory of their illustrious city, that despair of any kind touched them little. But Gondolin's doom drew ever nearer.

The heralds of winter surged through the pass of Sirion, and swept into the forest of Brethil where the remnant of the Haladin were hard at work with their axes, felling the beeches of their woods in preparation for the coming winter months.

The pallid gloom of Nan Dungortheb was disturbed and swirled ever closer to the northern borders of Doriath. Evil vapours thrust forward across the ancient road as groping outstretched fingers that clutched at the bordering pine trees.

To the east, the chill wind beat upon the great walls of the fortresses of Himring and Mt Rerir where multitudes of orcs now dwelt, bustling to and from their ever increasing forays into Beleriand. They felt the cold, yet were enheartened as they took it as a sign of their master's growing power. Its frosty bite would freeze the hearts of their enemies, and the black armies would follow in its wintry wake, bringing the wrath of Angband down upon the dismayed folk of the land.

Southward meandered the bitter breath of winter, sweeping through the forests of Doriath. It blew over roads and pathways, upon which tread the marching feet of the Sindar who now strove to fortify their realm. The mounting gloom all but darkened their hearts, as the Silmaril stayed not the effects of the coming winter. Also, something was amiss in the land. The bare trees of the forests seemed to be ailing from a malady other than that of the cold as they began to appear dark and crooked to the eye. Their fallen leaves turned into a black mulch of noisome slime beneath their boles, oozing with rot that stained the forest floor. The elven soldiers and their captains looked on silently as they went by, and foreboding grew in them each day. For never had a winter so affected their land, nor been as chill while still in the months of Autumn.

The people of Estolad shivered at the cold's approach and many heads were turned westward towards Arthorien where their elvish friends dwelt. They could tell they would be assailed by a fell winter and knew they would require the aid of the Doriathrim ere it ended. Yet no elves had come of late to their realm, and many now wondered what was afoot in Dior's kingdom that would hinder their visits.

To the west, the frost passed over the desolation of the Falas, gnawing with icy jaws at the ruined walls of Eglarest and Brithombar and the silent dwellings within. Great Belegaer rolled upon the silent beaches; his cold waters an uninviting grey, with white crests that leapt high in the roaring foam.

The Narog continued it's noisy flow past the abandoned caverns of Nargothrond, leaping over the stony ruins of the great bridge that had fallen into the gorge of the river. The broken gates still lay upon either side of the gaping black mouth that was the entrance to Felagund's fallen realm. The chill crept inside, meandering through the ancient maze of decaying halls and treasuries, raising anew the dragon stench of Glaurung that had settled over the desolation.

Far to the east, Morgoth's wintry heralds swept by the lone hill of Amon Ereb that was a scene of bustling activity. Companies of elvish soldiers on foot and on horseback traversed the roads that led to the lonely height. The western slopes rang with the hammering din of smithies in full labour as weapons and armour were serviced and horses were newly shod. All companies that marched to Amon Ereb followed the road round the base of the hill to the southerly slopes, where they were housed in the barracks that were assigned for the soldiery of Feanor's people. Ladies and maidens were at work in their houses, weaving heraldic devices for their lords to display in battle. Scouts and messengers called for clearance as they rode up the winding road to the high fortress gates where the guard swiftly let them enter to deliver their reports to their captains. Many paused in their work as they felt the oncoming chill, but the cold all but added to the heat of purpose in their hearts. For the Feanorrim laboured towards the coming winter and the icy blast heralded the nearness of their goal.

The frosty wind swept by the sons of Feanor who were stood upon the parapet that faced northward. They hardly seemed to notice the chill as they looked down upon the ongoing preparations for the war they had instigated.  
Immediately after their council they had summoned their captains and told them of their decision. If the captains had had any reservations, they dared not reveal them as they all knew that the purpose of the brothers could not be gainsaid. The princes therefore gave the order to summon as many of their people from wandering as possible. After a few days of gathering, the sons of Feanor addressed the Feanorrim and set in them the desire to go to war with Doriath for the retrieval of the Silmaril.

Many things they said to their people that day, delivering speeches akin to those which their father had uttered in Tirion long before. And though no brother was silent, it was Celegorm who spoke most, and it were his words that chiefly roused their peoples hearts. Yet the grim truth was that most of the Feanorrim needed little persuasion as their discontent in living so while the Sindar of Doriath lived in bliss stung their bitter hearts as much as it did their princes. Also, their allegiance to the house of Feanor was beyond all question, even to the point of accepting the fell order for war against other elves. There were yet many who had gone into exile with Feanor to Formenos, and had fought the Teleri at Alqualonde. No dark order daunted them from pursuing the Silmaril and indeed, many among them thought they were even overly late in going to Doriath for it. Such were the hearts of the Feanorrim at that time for the binding power of the curse lay all the heavier upon them since the princes had retaken their terrible Oath. The evil that lay at the heart of their claim now clouded all their peoples minds with dark and hateful thoughts.

Celegorm turned his face upward to the grey skies and his sharp elven sight scoured the heavens for his servants. These were called the _Aicafionduri_ in the tongue of the Noldor and along with Huan the Hound of Valinor, were given by Orome the Valar to Celegorm as gifts to aid him in his love for the hunt in Aman. Yet when the Noldor abandoned that land, all had followed their master into exile. Eight mighty hawks they were that lived in pairs. Yet these were of the second generation of birds as their sires had succumbed to the mortal airs of Middle-earth, having lived for over four hundred years of the sun. It was decreed at their making that to each pair would be born a male and female, which in turn would mate with a cousin so that their number would remain the same after each former generation died.

They were named the _Fell Hawk Servants_ for they were very great, being more than five times the size of the largest of their lesser cousins of Middle-earth. Their swiftness in the air was such that no bird, not even the eagles of Manwe could vie with them. Even their eyesight was scarce less than the Winglords of Thorondor, for nothing was hidden from their sharp glance as they flew in the heavens. Neither could any prey escape the unyielding clutch of their steel-like talons, nor any hide defy their rending beaks.

Now it is said that Celegorm was learned in the speech of birds and beasts, having been taught by Orome. So it was that he could converse with his hawks and thus ordered them to serve as the eyes of the Feanorrim in their endeavour against the Sindar. Immediately after the council, Celegorm had sent them out to fly over Dior's realm and spy upon the activities of the Sindar, bringing report of all their movements. Hence the sons of Feanor knew of the fortifying of the east marches of Doriath, from the dwarf road in the north that was bordered by the oaks of Arthorien, to the southern marches that looked from afar to the Andram. The hawks also brought report of Sindarin scouts that now came into east Beleriand in an attempt to spy upon Amon Ereb, and it was only by their vigilance and that of many other birds the hawks had roused to their cause, that the Feanorrim discovered them and barred the ways forward.

"The Sindar are not permitted to cross into the lands of the sons of Feanaro while the matter of the Silmaril yet lies between our peoples!" said the Feanorrim whenever they came upon Sindarin scouts in the woodlands as if by chance. "Is it not enough that we abide by Dior's request with firm obedience? Yet here we find you spying upon us, implying an untrustworthiness on our part that we do not deserve. Return therefore to your realm in shame for we send no spies to Doriath in the belief that there should be no deceit in this grave matter!"

Then the scouts returned to Doriath in doubt as it seemed to them that the people of Feanor were true to their word and sent no spies. Yet they knew nothing of the Aicafionduri which were as yet unseen as they flew beyond all elven sight. But the Feanorrim laughed at their backs as the doom of Doriath drew ever nearer.

Now Celegorm caught sight of his winged servants as they soared down from the northern skies in vast spirals, gliding lower at each lofty turn. They were swift to reach the lower airs where the pointed turret tops of the fortress pierced the sky. In them were built high eyrie's that housed each pair. However, the lead bird veered aside from its homeward bound flightpath and continued to descend towards the parapet where the princes stood. Onto the balcony ledge it swept; a majestic bird named Altarama who was the chieftain of the hawks. He gave a mighty call of greeting as Celegorm strode over to him and held converse with the great bird while gently stroking its brown feathers.

After a moment, he turned to his brothers. "Altarama says the Sindar are amassing much of their soldiery in the eastern woods of Region and the building of forts has now reached the inflow of the Celon into the Aros to the south of Arthorien. It seems they plan to build a great chain of fortification, following the Aros down from the north to its very inflow into the Sirion by Aelin Uial. However, the south and west of the realm are as yet sparsely manned as all efforts are still to the east."  
Celegorm then turned to Maedhros. "Well _minyon_, do you still doubt Dior's true intent? Is it not clear to you now that he plans a great defence against our entering his realm in peace or otherwise? And yet why should he do this if he would yield our jewel? It is for this defensive reason that he asked us for a delay, bidding our return in the spring when all his plans to wall us out of his realm would have been full wrought. He defends against our ever coming for the Silmaril!"

Maedhros turned his grey eyes northward. With the cooling of his heart in the weeks after their fateful council, he had begun to harbour an echo of small hope that fate would be kinder and lead not to a confrontation of war. However, it was now plain that Dior did not plan to cede the jewel. So, the die was cast and his resolve was set.

He turned back to Celegorm."You and Curufinwe were right in council. Now we must look to these tidings as a sign that we must swiftly prepare to march forth as success of our plan to enter into Doriath unseen and unchallenged grows less with each passing day. The south and west of Region are yet free you say? Therefore we must take that way and hope to come behind the Doriathrim's lines of defence and take them unawares!"

Celegorm nodded in agreement. "Indeed it shall be so _minyon_. In three days the horns of the Feanorrim shall sound upon the hill, and we shall set forth at your command!"

Altarama spread his great wings and gracefully launched himself into the air, swiftly climbing away to his high eyrie. The brothers turned to leave the balcony yet Maglor remained where he stood, staring into the north. Maedhros watched him for a moment from the doorway that led into the fortress and wondered. Of all his brothers, he was closest to Maglor and therefore knew him well. He could tell that something deeply unsettled his brother about the whole business of the Silmaril. Yet even now, when Dior's true intentions had become clear to them and Celegorm and Curufin's suspicions were vindicated, Maglor still seemed troubled.

In all their later councils on the retaking of the Silmaril he had said little, offhandedly voicing his agreement to all that was said though it were plain his thoughts were elsewhere. Now seeing him standing there with a grave face made Maedhros wonder all the more. Could the cause of his brother's sombre mood still be of his natural opposition to a conflict with other elves? Perhaps it were so, yet Maedhros thought there was more to his brother's melancholy. Many a time had he seen Maglor regard his brothers with haunted sight, as if he could see some far off grief that would afflict them. Maedhros sighed. What ailed his brother?

He came over to Maglor's side and stood awhile in silence, following his brother's gaze to the northern horizon. It was a dull noon with a sky heavily laden with thick layers of grey cloud that rendered bland and colourless the featureless lands about. The chill wind had passed yet the airs felt colder in its wake and Maedhros drew his great cloak about him. The noise of bustling activity came to their ears from below: the galloping of hooves, the tramping feet of marching warriors, the loud calls of war captains, the ringing din of smithies and the low whirl of working looms.

He turned to Maglor. "_Toron_, what troubles your heart? Your mood of late has been grim indeed...grim and silent as if a dark cloud has settled over all your thoughts. These are stern times for us Macalaure. Stern yet necessary for our hand is now forced. As much as we may hate what we are about to do, you must surely see that we have no other choice in the matter. It is our sworn destiny to pursue and retrieve the Silmarils from whosoever would withhold them! I marvel that for one who but recently uttered the Oath, you still seem not to understand this!"

Maglor remained silent for a moment, his gaze still fixed upon the horizon. His dark hair strayed in the biting wind and his cloak rippled and flared. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of the crisp air.

Finally he turned to his elder brother. "All too true are your words Russandol. These indeed are stern times. Stern and grim not only for the Doriathrim whom we go to destroy, but also for we the sons of Feanaro!" Maedhros looked questioningly at Maglor who turned away, gazing again to the north.

"We have lived long in Middle-earth," he continued. "Lived longer than all the high princes of Finwe's house, save Turucano who is yet hidden in Ondolinde. But he alone remains of his house, having lost his father Nolofinwe and his brothers Findecano and Aracano to war. Where also are the sons of Arafinwe? Where are Findarato, Angarato and Aicanaro? They are slain Russandol. They have all paid for following the lead of our father against the wisdom and will of the Valar. Yet what of we upon whom lies the chief share of the wrath of the Powers? Have we yet paid for our rebellion against the Blessed Realm? Is our hefty debt settled for the blood of the Teleri which we spilled upon the Swan ships and pearly quays of Alqualonde? Have we paid in full for betraying our brethren by leaving them to the frozen wastes of the Helcaraxe?"

However, Maglor's solemn words roused a hot anger in Maedhros who cut in hotly, "Did we not lose our brother Ambarto to tragedy? Did we not lose our father Feanaro to the fiery whips and axes of the Valaraukar? Do not speak as though we of the eldest line of Finwe have not also suffered the wrath of the Valar, and endured grievous loss in our own house!"

But Maglor slowly shook his head. "So we have _toron_," he replied, "yet you misunderstand me for _I speak in fear_ Maitimo! Fear for what lies in store for us in Doriath!"

Maedhros' brow creased to a frown. "Fear? What would you fear for the Feanorrim?"

Maglor turned back to face him. "I would fear that our doom should finally catch up with us, and put an end to our life in Middle-earth."

Maedhros gave a grim smile. "If you talk of death in battle your fears are but the natural anxieties that weigh upon the mind ere one goes to war. For that is a peril which all warriors must risk. Yet do not fear it overmuch as our prowess has ever been proven upon the battlefield. We who have survived all the great battles fought against Morgoth in Beleriand. We who even escaped the rout of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad with our lives!"

"Yet this is different _minyon_!" replied Maglor heatedly. "Indeed we have been saved from the perils of Morgoth when others have perished. Yet know that the greater danger for the Feanorrim lies with the grim deeds we do in the name of our Oath, the results of which have grievously afflicted us in the past. So did the kinslaying at Alqualonde lead to the death of Ambarto and our father Feanaro. Think now of the price our house shall pay for a second kinslaying!  
_Minyon_! I have not lost all wisdom and foresight to my blind desire for the Silmaril! The vision of my mind's eye is not yet clouded! _Hearken to me_ Maitimo! If we go to war with Doriath there shall be fewer of the sons of Feanaro to return alive to the hill of Amon Ereb!"

Maedhros stood silent for a moment, gazing intently at his brother. It was known that Maglor had a measure of foresight as he would at times sing of things that were yet to pass in his songs. Now words spoken in council that were half heeded at the time came back to Maedhros' mind.

_"Beware that your dark wisdom in this matter shall lead you to a doom of the same hue!"_ Maglor had said to Curufin in a heated moment. Subtle pangs of doubt crept into Maedhros' heart, yet what could he now do or change? They had all retaken their Oath in reaffirming their commitment to reclaiming the Silmaril, no matter how this was to be done. He could no longer alter his or his brothers counsels, and more so now it were plain Dior defied them by walling himself against any action taken, be it peaceful or otherwise. Yet if Maglor saw death awaiting...

Nay, Maedhros did not believe it! He could not believe it! He _would not let himself_ believe it!  
An aura of invincibility surrounded the six sons of Feanor in the minds of their people and evermore so after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. It were now said by many that they were charmed as their Oath, however grim, protected them against fate and would save them from all perils until such time as they would reclaim all the lost Silmarils. Nigh all the Feanorrim held this belief and regarded the six princes with awe, and the sons of Feanor themselves began to believe it were truly so. They could not be slain in any battle or by any mischance in Middle-earth until all the Silmarils were recovered.  
_'Macalaure was mistaken,'_ thought Maedhros, convincing himself at last. The sons of Feanor had survived many perils in Middle-earth. That they should be felled at last by the Sindar did not seem possible to him. _'Nay! Macalaure was truly mistaken!'_

He turned to his brother with a stern face as he looked down upon him. "Now come Macalaure. I tire of your solemn mood that would have you speak of us with such ill omen! We cannot go back on our Oath for any fear, be it real or conjured. Yet I deem your anxiety to be that of the latter and thus never to be realised. You must cast aside all such doubts as it is unbecoming for a great lord of the Feanorrim to display such misgivings as to our fate, for it may only serve to dismay your people who abide by your word!"

Maglor sorrowfully bowed his head and sighed. Maedhros did not or rather _would not_ believe him and that grieved him greatly. Yet he could do or say no more. He had given his warning and if it fell upon ears that would not take heed, then so be it!

He looked up to face his brother. "Very well Maitimo," he said sadly. "This shall be the last time I speak of this for it is plain you will not listen. I shall take my due place and lead my people into battle, for that is your wish as well as my fate as a son of Feanaro. However, ere all is ended you shall remember this day and rue it in bitterness that you took not my warning to heart!  
_Alas for those who go to their end in Doriath!  
Alas for our cruel Oath that would bring ruin to the Sindar!  
Alas for the hard fate of the Noldor in Middle-earth!_"  
With that, he turned and disappeared through the doorway.

~oOo~

Preparations upon the hill now came to a sudden climax as word swiftly spread that the order to march would be in three days. The southerly slopes lay beneath a multitude of erected tents as the barracks could no longer hold all the warriors that were come. Tall standards were placed beside many of them, with their heraldic flags flapping proudly in the cold winds. Yet in truth there were fewer warriors than would have come, for many who dwelt in Ossiriand were bidden to remain there for fear of arousing the suspicion of the Green elves. The sons of Feanor did not trust them as they thought they might be in league with the Sindar and used as spies against the Noldor. Indeed, word had long since reached the ears of the Silvan elves of the potential strife between Doriath and Amon Ereb, for Haradion had sent messengers to his people asking for their aid in keeping a watchful eye upon the Feanorrim.

Yet Maedhros set a guard all along the Gelion, from the inflow of the river Thalos in the north to the inflow of the Brilthor in the south, and ordered that none of the Silvan elves should cross the great river until the matter was resolved. Great was the area of which to guard, yet no Silvan spy crossed over unseen as the Aicafionduri and all other birds in the region alerted the Feanorrim to any breach. Thus the Silvan elves knew nothing of the Feanorrim's uprising and therefore gave no warning to their Sindarin brethren. However, they kept watch upon the movements of the Noldor whom inhabited their own haunts and these kept up appearances by living as they had always done, settling in many camps in the wilds of the land and mingling with the Green elves in times of song and merriment.

The eve of the march came swiftly. All that day activity upon the hill had slowly died down as preparations came to completion. All companies that were to march forth were now housed upon the hill, and the roads were emptied of messengers and scouts. The very weather seemed to calm as the sweeping winds died down and the cold was less biting. Indeed by the time of evening, the weather had curiously warmed and the tepid airs were stifled, carrying little sound as though eastern Beleriand were holding its breath in a great hush. The fires upon Amon Ereb burned low yet brightly as the last vestiges of the orange hues of twilight faded beneath the western horizon. The day had seen the thick covering of grey cloud dissipate as a strong wind blew in from the west to clear the skies. The stars showed their twinkling faces for the first time in many days, burning brightly as they vied not with the radiance of Tilion who would come late from the grots and caverns of the roots of Arda. Yet the Aicafionduri flew silently overhead in their ceaseless vigilance, passing over the plains around Amon Ereb as swift flitting shadows in the pale starlight.

Amrod stood alone on the northern balcony, his gaze fixed on where Doriath lay in the distant dark. He thought grimly of the gravity of their planned march, yet the fire of purpose that was re-awoken in him had scarcely abated since his retaking of the Oath. Dior wilfully defied them and therefore left them with no choice. However, there was still a part of him that harboured a forlorn hope that Dior would yet yield the jewel at the last ere any sword were raised.  
Looking to the west he saw that the twilight had faded to a black sky as if a distant blanket of cloud now covered all the western horizon. Were it a sign of the Valar's wrath at the Feanorrim's impending actions? Amrod sighed and decided not to dwell upon the grim thought.

He turned and made for the doorway that led into the fortress. At that moment he heard footsteps behind him, coming up the stairway that rose from the courtyard below.

He turned back to see Celegorm striding towards him. "How goes it with you Ambarussa?" asked his brother when he was stood before him.

"All is well Tyelcormo," Amrod replied. "My people and I only await the command to set forth. Should I take it that all is made ready for the morrow?"

"You should indeed!" replied Celegorm with a smile. "We march at sunrise with sharp swords, bright mail and ready hearts! Thus you witness Tyelcormo himself seeking an early rest this night as it shall be a long march of great endurance. Who knows how far off our natural course we shall be forced to travel in order to pass into Doriath unseen? But no matter! We shall have the ever vigilant sight of the Aicafionduri in the airs and the enduring strength of the Amanyar in our limbs. All shall turn out well for us, you will see!"

Amrod returned Celegorm's reassuring smile. He felt his heart stir with sudden anticipation for the long march ahead. It had been Celegorm's gift from their father to have the ability to rouse hearts to his purpose beyond all gainsaying, in matters that touched him near.

"I doubt you not Turcafinwe," said Amrod. "Yet I am not sure as to whether our _Strong Finwe_ should claim to seek an early rest in fear of the strain of a long march as he shall most certainly have the honour of travelling upon his horse, Tyelcarocco. The right to claim such rest in light of the coming toil should remain with those who are not princes or captains, and shall therefore traverse the long miles on foot, being denied the certain comforts that come with high status!"

Celegorm laughed and placed a hand upon Amrod's shoulder. "Ah! You score a point Ambarussa for I can say little in my defence. Yet tomorrow shall be a day of such importance that I should nonetheless be of full vigour to face it. Therefore I will still bid you an early goodnight!"

He bowed to Amrod and strode away through the doorway and down the passage towards the flight of stairs that led to the princes quarters. However, before he was out of earshot he called back, "And being our _Little Finwe_, I would suggest that you do the same!"

Amrod stared after him, laughing quietly to himself. It gladdened his heart to know he could still share a light moment with his brother amid the grim counsels of war. He then followed in Celegorm's wake but before he reached the stairs, he turned into a large doorway that opened to a wide room.

A shadowy figure passed by behind him in stealth, following after Celegorm up the stairs and was gone.

The room Amrod entered was dimly lit by a bright red glow that came from a large hearth that housed a fine crackling fire. The shadows were long and deep in the flickering light and the air was warm and inviting, scented with burning pinewood. The room was furnished with six low chairs and beside each stood a small round table atop which sat a pitcher of wine and a single large flagon. Many richly designed tapestries hung upon the walls, and there also hung trophies of great twisted antlers of hunted deer and curved horns of wild kine and boar. Animal skins covered the floor.

This was the Sambe an i Haryoni (Chamber for the Princes) that was used by the sons of Feanor at such times when they wished for peace and thought, or the quiet company of each other away from the rest of their people.  
Amrod made for the chair that was nearest the hearth and sat himself down, filled his flagon and began to sip the wine. He stretched out and crossed his legs, warming the soles of his boots. His thoughts hearkened back to his hunting days in the Blessed realm where he used to follow the horn of Orome with Celegorm and Amras. There he had learned much of the art and few were accounted greater huntsmen in Middle-earth than he, save Celegorm. Many an hour did those twain spend in that chamber, reminiscing of their ancient days hunting in the vast teeming forests of Orome.

The Vala had taught him much but Celegorm had taught him more. He took another sip of wine and eased further back into the comfort of his chair. It had been long since he and his brother had hunted together in the forests of East Beleriand. He missed the swift chase on horseback; the baying of the eager hounds upon the scent trail; the swooping shadows of the swift Aicafionduri as they bore down upon hunted prey; the camping in the wilds under starry nights and the triumphant return to the hill, laden with the spoils of the chase. Indeed he missed hunting with his brother! Amrod closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift in a sea of warm memories that played out to him in his mind's eye.

There came the approach of voices that returned his senses to the fire-lit chamber. He poured himself more wine and awaited his brothers arrival. The voices drew nearer and surely enough, there appeared Caranthir and Curufin by the doorway.

"Ah! Greetings Ambarussa!" said Curufin loudly with a smile and a mock bow. "You seem undoubtedly ensconced in your repose! Would you begrudge the company of two of your brothers in your solitude?"

Amrod gave him a sidelong glance. "Indeed I would!" came his curt reply. "Yet so boisterous seems your mood, that I would invite you in just so as to make jest of your incessant beaming!"

"Jest all you may," replied Curufin, "yet my heart is high within me! For the first time since we set foot in Middle-earth we have a sure chance of retrieving a Silmaril! It is almost within our grasp as tomorrow shall the first steps be taken towards that goal! So boisterous you say? I am indeed Ambarussa, I am! Therefore gladly make your jests about my mood as it shall only please me to receive them!"

Amrod and Caranthir laughed as the brothers sat down and poured themselves some wine from their pitchers. However, all sat silent for a long while as if unwilling to speak. Each stared into the yellow flames, being deeply engrossed in his own thoughts.

It was Amrod who finally broke the silence. "Curufinwe, do you miss Telperinquar?" he asked.

Curufin's eyes widened in surprise. "I thought I sat to the making of jests at my expense," he replied. "Yet I see that your mind is changed and would rather party me to a cumbersome grilling!"

"Nay! See it not that way," replied Amrod. "Here we are, sat at our ease on the eve of our great march. The days that follow shall be grim and render many a stern deed ere all is ended. I would therefore have the little time we still share in peace to be of closeness among we brothers. The recent years have been hard on us all and seldom have we found the time to be at ease with each other as we used to in the ancient past. Therefore let us sit now as we did then, and speak of things that lie deep in our hearts."

Curufin turned back to the fire and after a moment, gave a long sigh. His brothers watched him, silently wondering if Curufin would answer as he set his flagon to his lips, drained the wine and poured a refill from the pitcher.

"Do I miss Telperinquar you ask?" he said at last. "Do I miss the son who followed not his father into forced exile from Findarato's realm? He who chose to go against the rites of our Oath that would dictate stern action against any who would deal with a Silmaril who was not of the house of Feanaro! Did I not declare him an ill-gotten son who was a traitor to both his father and kin, preferring to stack his lot with those of the house of Arafinwe, the greatest traitor of all! Is this the son whom you would now ask of me?"

He leaned forward with a slightly bowed head and his dark locks hid his face. Yet Amrod and Caranthir heard his next words clearly, though he spoke in the softest of tones. "Yes Ambarussa, I miss my son! Not a day goes by when my thought fails to linger upon his person. No day ends when I do not wonder where he now dwells or to what doom fate has led him."

Curufin slowly turned to face his brothers and faintly smiled at their obvious wonder. "Ah! You are both surprised I see. _"Little Father"_ resembles not his sire as closely as was to be thought! I am not as unforgiving as Feanaro it seems! Yes...Perhaps it is so! Yet at the time of our parting my heart was as shut to Telperinquar as the hearts of the Valar are shut to we Noldor in exile. However, the hardships of our years in Middle-earth are sobering, and there were times when I sat in deep thought and pondered upon our estrangement. And I finally came to realise that as much as I might not condone his actions towards me and our house, I will say that in hindsight I now somewhat understand his choice."

"And how can you say that?" asked Caranthir in amazement. "He is a prince of the house of Feanaro. To go against our Oath and side with those who would hinder our claim can only be viewed as treason, and is punishable by death and the doomed fall into the everlasting dark!"

"Maybe it is so with those of us whose very voices uttered the Oath," replied Curufin. "Yet Telperinquar and our people said no vow, but followed only our lead. The Oath perhaps binds them less than it does us. So could Telperinquar yet renounce the Oath's claim upon him when its doom became too hard for him to endure."

The room was darkening as the fire burned low. Curufin rose and placed new pinewood upon the hearth, stoking the wavering flames to renewed vigour. He then retook his seat, emptied his flagon and refilled it again.

"Not for anything in this world would I set aside my Oath until its fulfilment," he continued. "Yet I will tell you now that I am not proud of my conduct towards Findarato and his people." Caranthir shook his head in disapproval as his dislike for the sons of Finarfin had scarcely abated over the years.  
"Findarato was a good elf and wise lord," said Curufin, ignoring his brother. "I cannot forget his grace in harbouring us after the Dagor Bragollach. Neither can I forget the honour and friendship he showed me, nor his treatment of our people that was done with uttermost courtesy and goodwill. Not for naught was he given the epithet _"The Beloved"_ for that he was. Of all the casualties brought about by the doom of the Silmarils, I regret his. And it is for this reason that I have forgiven all my people who remained in Nargothrond, renouncing their bonds of allegiance to me. I understand them for they came to perceive mine and Tyelcormo's actions as treacherous...of which they were!"

Amrod's eyes widened in great surprise but Caranthir stirred in his seat and could no longer keep silent. "Now come Curufinwe! You have said much but you go too far!"

"No _you_ come Carnistir!" answered Curufin. "Are we not to open our hearts here for I merely speak of what is true to my innermost thoughts. Ambarussa was right to ask that we should talk so as I feel all the better for it. A weight is lifted from my heart now that I share this with you."

"Indeed the sharing seems good," replied Caranthir. "Nevertheless, I cannot agree with all I am hearing. The stern deeds we may do in adherence to our Oath cannot be viewed as being treacherous, for all are forewarned of our vow's edicts and the consequences of going against us. Those who would see themselves as being bold enough to set their own claim upon the jewels of Feanaro should learn to leave well alone! That Thingol foolishly named the Silmaril in a bid to quell the passions of his wayward daughter means nothing to us! He should not have done so! Also, Findarato's involvement in the matter was not of our doing but of his own choice. You and Tyelcormo were forced to act in the way you did. For how else could a son of Feanaro have dealt with the tidings that others who were not of the Feanorrim should embark on a quest to regain a Silmaril for a lord of the _Sindar no less_! If any should be named treacherous it is Thingol whose misguided errand led to the death of Findarato his _"beloved kinsman"_!"

A silent moment passed in which Amrod turned thoughtfully away and Caranthir sat glaring at the fire with bright flaming eyes. But Curufin leaned back into his chair and drained his flagon.

"However you may see it Carnistir, I tell you now that our thoughts _were_ filled with treachery!" he said. "Our scheming had Findarato set out with almost no aid so that he might surely fail in the task. However, that was not our greatest purpose, for behind all we planned to usurp his throne and seize his realm, thus furthering our power in Middle-earth! But who of the Noldor knows of the hour that the Curse of Mandos should be visited upon him! That fell doom that came upon Tyelcormo and I as dark thoughts arising in our minds that would have us give no more heed to Findarato's grace and goodwill! I am ashamed even now to recall our deeds. But fate would surely out such undeserved treachery and verily was all uncovered in the end and we two sons of Feanaro were deservedly banished!"

He fell silent again, staring at the fire while absent-mindedly tracing the lip of his flagon with his fingers. Amrod bowed his head, his brother's honesty having touched him deeply, and even Caranthir lowered his eyes and spoke no more against his brother's heartfelt confession.

"So you must see," Curufin continued, "I am sundered from my son through deeds of dishonour on my part. For at times the Oath has us forget that we are of high birth, being the children of Finwe. We might in all matters pertaining to our vow, conduct ourselves with honour that is becoming of the princes of the Noldor. Yet our rash errors in Nargothrond have not been made here with Dior. That our noble attempt to entreat with him has come to naught is through no fault of ours. There has been no treachery on our part. Our claim was courteously put and we gave him a fair chance to be honourable and cede the jewel in good faith. However, his choice to refuse shall rest upon his head and his peoples for they have all been forewarned. Therefore in this endeavour for the Silmaril at least, shall I ride with a clear conscience and high hope!"

"You speak for us all _toron_." said Caranthir after a reflective pause.

"Indeed," said Amrod. "And I thank you for your honesty Curufinwe and deem that wherever he might be, Telperinquar has not forgotten his father and kin. We can only hope that he and the others who remained with him have found a place of respite and shall maybe find their way back to us."

Curufin bowed. "I hope your words to be true Ambarussa, for that is also my wish."

Silence fell again upon the chamber, save the steady hiss and crackling of the fire. After a moment, Amrod turned to stare at Caranthir with a smile upon his face.

Caranthir looked at him with growing irritation. "Well?"

"And so we come to you Carnistir," Amrod said, placing a hand upon his brother's shoulder. "Curufinwe shall not be the only one to tell us of the secrets of his heart. I would ask you of a distant rumour I heard years ago."

Caranthir's brow darkened as he looked away. "Rumour? What is this hearsay you have heard?"

"There was talk of you and a mortal maiden."

At that, Caranthir turned a sharp glance upon him. His eyes were glinting in the firelight.

Amrod's smile widened. "So _there is_ truth to the old rumours! Well, the night is young and the wine is plentiful. Will you not tell us more?"

Caranthir shook his head. "Foolishness!" he muttered.

"Now come!" said Curufin, smiling in the flickering shadows. "Have I not opened my heart to you? I shall not be alone in this. You must speak!"

"I _must_ do nothing!" Caranthir returned. "I did not force you to speak for you did that of your own accord. As for me, I have nothing to say for the rumours were false. Were I to find the insolent ones who would talk so of their princes!"

"You would indeed do nothing!" Curufin cut in. "I too heard the rumour many years ago and little did I doubt the tale though I wondered much on how it came to pass. Indeed, the story was too strange to have been falsified as the _questioning conduct_ of a prince of the royal house of Finwe."

Caranthir slowly turned his dark head towards Curufin. The scowl upon his face was perilous.

Curufin however laid his hand upon his brother's arm. "Do not be angry," he implored, "for I do not mean to offend but to _understand_. We princes of Feanaro's house have a strange fate in the tale of the world, that is plain. Few who would look to us from the outside would understand our purposes and what drives us to do the deeds we do. However, we brothers have always supported each other and nothing will change that. Therefore I ask you to open your heart to we who are closest to you in trust. Please Carnistir...tell us of the maiden named Haleth!"

For a tense moment, Caranthir regarded Curufin with glaring eyes, his face split by fire and shadow. Then he suddenly turned to Amrod and growled, "See what your foolish bidding would do!" Amrod opened his mouth to protest but Curufin gave a swift shake of his head to silence him. Caranthir drained his flagon, then sat silent with bowed head. He said nothing for so long that his brothers thought he had denied them his confidence. But even as Amrod was about to rise and bid them goodnight, he spoke.

"She was of the Haladin who now dwell in the forest of Brethil...  
At that time they were newly come into Beleriand and dwelt in the south of my ancient realm of Thargelion. There they were content and unmolested for many years, but my people and I gave them small heed as we thought the race of men to be of little worth, being a lesser people made as a hasty afterthought by Iluvatar. For what were the Firimar to the Eldar but a people left wanting at every station when compared with us. We as elves surpassed them in all things. In beauty, in skill, in wisdom, in strength of spirit. They were as wayfaring children to us, come into Beleriand by unworthy chance. Yet the kings and lords of the Eldar took many of them into their service and I thought it were done out of pity.

_"To give the race of men a sense of worth by donning them in armour that is too good for them,"_ I said to the laughter of my knights.  
_"To have men dream of unattainable valour by giving them weapons that in themselves surpass them in value,"_ I scoffed.  
For the power of Morgoth was as yet shut in Angband and the lands were free of peril. What better time was there to parade the mortals about the lands, assigning to them the duties of guarding against nothing but a rumoured enemy. After all, what good would they be in real battle, thought I. Nevertheless, I let them dwell in my lands without leave through cold scornful pity.

Thus it stood between our peoples until the time Morgoth sent an orc raid to ravage the race of men. It passed north behind the Ered Engrin and then eastward and so escaped the leaguer. And coming southward the orcs passed back over the Ered Lindon by the passes of the dwarf-road and there, fell upon the Haladin. When word of this finally reached my ears, I was amazed at the boldness of the orcs to instigate such an attack upon my realm. For I deemed it were aimed at my people as I thought nothing of the Haladin, nor fathomed how deeply the race of men might be in Morgoth's dark counsels. So I swiftly gathered a force and rode down to meet the assault.

There we found that the orcs attack was turned against the Haladin who had formed a stockade in the uttermost corner of land between the rivers Ascar and Gelion. Only by their great courage and prowess had they held out as long as they had against foes thrice greater than all their number. Orcs lay dead in heaps, yet their valiant defence was almost overrun as the enemy finally broke through the stockade. Then did I let blow my trumpets of war, and my cavalry drove the shrieking orcs into the deep waters of the rivers. But no boast of deeds in battle did any elf make that day for it was plain the valiant were the Haladin! Indeed, we all looked upon their survivors with wonder as many who fought in that last assault were women and children. Had I not been there and were told of the assault, I would not have believed it. Yet my own eyes had beheld the valour of their desperate last stand.

It was in that final defence that I first beheld her, standing tall with gilded armour and a shining helm. A longsword, blackened by the blood of her foes was held in her right hand, and a dinted shield was strapped to her left arm. She stood there, commanding her folk in lofty defiance of her enemies and I held back our attack, mesmerised by the shining beacon of her valour!"

Caranthir fell silent, his wide eyes reflecting the soft flames of the fire. The brothers could see a faint smile grow that was borne of distant memories, dear and intimate to his heart. Suddenly he turned away, and passed a swift hand over his eyes. He glanced quickly at his brothers and smiled broadly.

"She was strange!" he continued. "Strange and a wonder to behold, standing there in utter defiance against the raging wrath of Morgoth. And even as the enemy thrust aside the final barricades, she fell upon their leading ranks as a fey maiden of war, swift and deadly, with many others rallying to her side. There the black tide was stemmed but the orcs breached many other places, though they paid dearly at each opening. Then was I roused from my stupor, ashamed that I should watch from afar those great deeds, forgetting to take my due place in battle. It were then that we came to their aid and routed the enemy.

When all was done I set there my standard and bid their leader come before me. So it was that she came, striding ahead of her host which crowded behind her in deference to their Lady.

'Are you their leader?' asked I when she was stood before me.

'I am not,' she replied. 'The Haladin have no lords as each homestead governs its own affairs. Yet in the assault our people were gathered together by Haldad my father who commanded us in battle.'

'Where then is Haldad?' I asked. 'If it is he who commands you, let him come forth!'

'My father is dead,' she answered grimly, 'as is my brother Haldar who perished while defending our sire's body from the butchery of those foul creatures. All that is left of my house is my brother's son, Haldan.'

Here she gestured to the crowd and a young boy of no more than ten summers was ushered forward.

She took his hand and held him close. 'The tall elven lord would speak with you, the only man left of our dwindled house,' she said to him with a sad smile as she gently stroked his hair. 'But you are still young, though as valiant as a mighty warrior! Therefore permit me to speak in your stead at this time.'

The boy looked up to her and nodded his child-like assent as she caressed his grime covered cheeks. She then gave a call and he was led away. It were then that I remembered having noted him in battle, fearlessly shooting down the enemy with a small bow. She spoke truly, for the heart of a warrior beat in his small breast.

The Lady then turned to me and removed her helm. Her auburn hair fell about her shoulders, long and pliant. Her face was of earthy beauty, her brown eyes of deep expression. As she stood there, clad as a warrior before me and my knights, I saw her clearly. Her strength, her courage, her patient wisdom, her bold will. She was as a daughter of men born of the archaic essence of Middle-earth: a heavy set rock that overshadows the strewn stones; a flowing river of broad water that is fed by narrow streams; an immovable bastion of a mountain that towers majestically above the surrounding hills. Indeed, fair was that noble daughter of the Firimar.

'I am named Haleth, daughter of Haldad of the Haladin,' she declared. 'I speak for all my people in giving thanks for your most timely arrival that saved us in our hour of need. We know not why the evil came down upon us from out of the heights of the mountains, for naught have we done to rouse the anger of the Dark Power in the north. Be that as it may, we would have you know of our uttermost gratitude. Alas, no gifts can we yet give you as our homes and belongings are all but destroyed.'

'Nay lady,' said I. 'No offer of reward do I ask of you and your people. That you valiantly held back the enemy that would have ravaged my lands is recompense enough. You do not know of my surprise at the courage of men, my surprise at how forward you are in arms! Therefore I am honoured to meet with you this day, and if there be any given requital, it shall come from we Noldor.'

I bowed before her and all my knights that stood there followed suit. Her eyes widened in returned surprise. That made me smile.

'Do not wonder,' I proclaimed, 'for the praiseworthy shall be honoured!' I turned then to the gathered host of the Haladin and bid them set aside their sorrows as they would thereafter have the aid of the Noldor to protect them.

Haleth then looked to me with questioning eyes. 'Yet who are you lord, who has come to our aid and would now proclaim to deliver us from our troubles?'

'I am a repentant elf,' I answered. 'A fool now learned, a lord presently indebted and a prince whose grave respect is now in your keeping.'

She looked at me sidelong with narrowed eyes and I laughed.

"I am named Morifinwe which is Caranthir in the Sindarin tongue that you speak. I am of the house of Feanaro and am lord of these lands that you have dwelt in since birth.'

She bowed low. 'Then pardon my ignorance lord, for surely should I have known to whom these fair lands that we have long since settled, belonged. However, before this day we have scarcely met any of your people, and those whose paths we crossed all but shunned us. Yet perhaps that is still of no excuse as our fathers should have presented themselves to your grace, and formally attained the right to dwell in your lands.'

'That may be,' returned I. 'However, if there was any fault on the Haladin's part it has been remedied, for glad am I now to have let your people be.'"

There Caranthir fell silent, gazing into the dimming flames. "The fire burns low," he said after while. Amrod rose and placed more pinewood in the hearth. The brightening flames crackled and popped as the fire burned with renewed vigour. The brothers each drained and refilled their flagons. Then Amrod and Curufin turned to Caranthir, both deeply taken with their brother's poignant reminiscence. It was to them a strange tale that brought to light a side of Caranthir they seldom saw that was both disconcerting, yet intriguing. All sense of time and place was lost to them in that room on that strange calm night. Tender truths they now told each other that pushed all thought of the Silmarils far out of their minds. As close brothers of old they now were, before grief and grim deeds came upon them. It was perhaps a glimpse of the wise and noble children of Finwe that might have been had fate been, kinder.

"Please go on Carnistir," said Amrod, unable to restrain his interest.

Caranthir smiled. "Such was the first meeting of the son of Feanaro and the daughter of Haldad," he continued. "We were parted awhile as she returned to her people. Their dead were many, as were those lost in the wilds. I therefore lent her my warriors to aid with the burial of the slain and the search for their lost ones. Others I sent to scout the mountains for orcs that might further attack us. Then about my standard I set our camp, raising what shelters we had for the women and children of the Haladin. The wounded we tended, the hungry we fed and the grief stricken we comforted.

Yet my thoughts were ever drawn back to Haleth, hoping to see her return. For three long days I saw naught of her, for she had much to do in the restoring of her people. Yet on the third night my warden came to my tent and announced her coming. So it was that we met again and sat together alone under candlelight. Our talk dwelt much on the progress of the restoration of the Haladin. Their slain were buried yet many of her people had been found in fearful wandering in the woods. Some were even returning to their homesteads to glean what they could of their belongings.

'All goes well my lord,' she said. 'Soon all my people shall be regathered, and then we shall look to our place of abiding.'

'That is a matter I would discuss with you,' I replied. 'As you know, the Noldor have laid siege to the Dark Power in the north, yet our leaguer does not fully encompass his domain. Only until now have we seen the effect of that weakness, for the orcs in their bold secrecy have proven a threat unforeseen. Beleriand is not as safe as it seemed. But now I realise the great aid unlooked for that has come to the Noldor in the form of the Edain. Therefore what better way to counter Morgoth's power that would terrorise the east than to join the valour of our peoples.  
_My lady...If you will remove and dwell further north, there you shall have the friendship and protection of the Eldar and free lands of your own.'  
TAKEN FROM THE SILMARILLION; CHAPTER 17 "OF THE COMING OF MEN INTO THE WEST"_  
I spoke in earnest for I would honour the Haladin and have their strength joined to mine. She turned to look at me, her brown eyes thoughtful as she took in my words.

Finally she answered, 'I thank you for your gracious offer, yet I would ask for time to consult with my people as they would surely have their say in this.'

'Indeed,' I replied, silently hopeful. She then turned away and gave a long sigh and seemed to diminish in the half light. Her labours were beginning to take their toll.

'I see that you are full of weariness,' I said with concern. She bowed her head and put a hand to her brow.

'I do what I must for my people,' she replied.

'But what of yourself?' I asked. 'The dark about your eyes shows how you tire. Even a leader must have time for rest.'

She gave me a pained glance and turned away with a hand hiding her face.

'Nay lady!' I said, seeing her apparent shame. 'I mean't no offence. It is out of heartfelt concern that I would speak so.'

Gently, I drew her hand away and bid her look at me. She then seemed to regard me with a piercing glance, searching for my true intent towards her. Did she read then what lay in my heart? That against all convention I was somehow moved to feel for a mortal whom but days ago I had considered naught of in policy as in being!"

Caranthir turned to Amrod and then to Curufin. The sharp features of his face were softened.  
"For I felt for her...I will not deny it! Strange is the fate of the sons of Feanaro in Middle-earth says Curufinwe and I say yea to that! Never would I have thought that _that_ would be my doom! But there it is. I did love the mortal maiden Haleth of the Haladin."

Amrod and Curufin looked past Caranthir to stare at each other. As much as they had previously guessed upon hearing the rumour, Caranthir's confession yet amazed them. They both downed their wines together.

After a warm silence Amrod spoke. "I wish I had known this woman. She must have been great indeed."

Caranthir smiled. "She was Ambarussa," he said with a sigh. "Hardy were the Haladin under her leadership and they achieved bold feats under her unwavering guidance. Indeed she would have stood tall with the _Ohtatyeronissi_, and her name would be held in high honour among them!"

"But the tale is not yet ended," said Curufin, "for many questions still lie unanswered. You have told us of your love but what of hers. Did she return your favour? And if she did, why then did she leave Thargelion with her people?"

Caranthir raised a hand. "I have said far more than I ever thought to tell! Besides, the memories are not easy to endure." Amrod and Curufin began to protest.

"Nay! Do not whine!" said Caranthir, seeing his brothers dismay. "I did not say I shall never tell the full tale. But I tire from all this talk and the wine goes to my head. I shall finish the tale another time...perhaps."

The chamber had darkened again as the fire burned very low and this in a sense signified the end of their intimate conversing. A cool air blew in from the corridor bringing their awareness back to the present. It was the eve of their march to Doriath. The eve of their first steps to attain the Silmaril..._their_ Silmaril.

Curufin stood and raised his flagon. "I drink to your health and to the sharing we have done this night. Yet most of all I drink..."

"To the Silmaril!" Caranthir cried as he rose to his feet.

"The Silmaril!" said Amrod in turn.

"To _our Victory_!" said Curufin.

The brothers drained their wine and set their flagons down. Yet even as they turned to leave, they heard the sound of music that came from outside. They listened perforce, standing stock still in the dark of the room. The melody of the harp seemed to permeate through the walls, enthralling them with each musical strand, yet it seemed a most sorrowful tune that was both beautiful yet grief stricken.

It was Amrod who first found his voice. "There is only one who can play with such skill."

"Truly! It is Macalaure no doubt who laments, but why?" said Curufin.

"I do not know," replied Caranthir. "But let us go and listen, though my heart tells me we shall dislike what we are to hear."

So the brothers left the Sambe an i Haryoni which dimmed to utter darkness with the fading of the last embers of the fire.

* * *

Author's Commentary:

I've put an overall description of preparations that may have taken place. The Doriathrim sent spies to make sure that the Feanorrim were not arming for war and they would have been aided by the Silvan elves too. The Feanorrim counter this with the Aicafionduri. Some may say its a very convenient plot device, but remember old Roac and the great ravens of the Lonely Mountain.  
This chapter gives the brothers some intimate moments. Maedhros and Maglor have theirs as do Amrod, Curufin and Caranthir. I've always wondered about the Curufin, Celebrimbor situation and I thought I would give my own take on it. The same goes for the Caranthir, Haleth story. Its a pairing that could have actually occurred. Just because Tolkien didn't make it official doesn't mean it couldn't happen. Remember Aegnor and Andreth.  
Anyway, the next chapter veers off the beaten path as I explain the origins of the _Ohtatyeronissi_ that Caranthir spoke of.


	7. Ravenne

**THE FALL OF DORIATH**

**RAVENNE is her mother-name which is She-lion.  
VANYAMORE is her father-name which is Dark beauty.  
BAMORIEN is the Sindarin translation of her father-name.  
MUINE OSELLE means beloved sworn-sister  
OSELLE is a term used by the sons of Fëanor for Ravenne. It means sworn-sister.  
ORTORNO is a term used by Ravenne for the sons of Fëanor. It means sworn-brother.  
FEANARIEL is the name given to Ravenne by the people of Fëanor in Formenos. It means Fëanor's daughter.  
Please forgive the use of the term Fëanorrim as being used by the characters in this chapter. I did this because I do not know the Noldorin equivalent for "The People of Fëanor" If anyone would be so kind as to give me the correct translation I'll be grateful. Thanks.**

***OHTATYERONISSI means the "Warrior Women"**

**Chapter Seven...  
"RAVENNE"**

**Here must be told of how those women of the people of Fëanor came to be known as the _Ohtatyeronissi._**

The night sky of Middle-earth shone with the silver lustre of a thousand full moons before the sun and moon rose to wander their neverending paths in the heavens. The Age Of Stars had passed in relative peace over Beleriand, yet the silver hue that had illuminated the gentle life of the Sindarin and Silvan elves along, with the Naugrim now shone upon events of violence and sorrow. The Dark Power of the north had returned and it's wrath had fallen with a heavy stroke upon the free peoples of Beleriand. There had been sorrowful defeat, but also rousing victories as the elves rallied against the hordes of Angband. Yet all had ended in deadlock, with the people of Thingol enclosed within the Girdle of Protection that lay about the lands of Doriath, while Cirdan and his people were shut behind the great walls of the harbour cities of the Falas.

Both elven realms lying east and west were besieged and their peoples held in constant doubt and war readiness as the lands between them crawled with the dark shapes of the enemy that now roamed about Beleriand, seemingly victorious. The once shadowless valleys were become full of dark niches out of which peered evil eyes, leering with hateful intent. The silver plains and grasslands were marred by iron-shod feet as dark hunched shapes marched at will over the grey fields. Wolvish silhouettes sat upon the crowns of craggy hilltops, their dreadful howling setting a great fear upon any of pure heart who heard their haunting cries.

Such was the sorry state of the lands the stars looked down upon, and in dismay their glowering radiance was dimmed. Yet a bright savage light of red flames was kindled to the north and a great billowing smoke was sent up, spreading over the land as a coiling black stain drifting in the winds. A new army had arrived unlooked for upon the shores of Middle Earth! The pale eyes in the heavens followed it closely as it marched inland from Losgar and passing through the Cirith Ninniach, it poured into the land of Dor-Lomin and headed on eastward. But the countenance of the stars was not brightened in hope for Beleriand as should have been at the arrival of the newcomers, for doubt had been sown by the great burning witnessed that would seem to be an omen of a dark deed in itself.

Yet good or otherwise, the stars were grieved as their lofty sight now beheld a great multitude issuing from Angband. No warning could the white fires of Varda give as they twinkled mournfully in the Ilmen, witnessing the renewed orcish hordes crawl over the mountains of Ered Wethrin as a moving shadow, snaking its way about the high passes, and flowing down the western slopes that looked towards the silver tear-drop of lake Mithrim where the newcomers had halted. The lustre of the stars was further diminished in their hopelessness, for times were changing for the peaceful lands they had joyously illuminated for so long. Changing for the worst. Storm clouds swept over the sprawling landscape beneath them and a great rain was loosed upon the land. For the stars could do nothing but weep. That at least they could do.

~oOo~

A great din of horns blowing wildly filled the air, accompanied by the cries of the soldiery of Fëanor. There was a great commotion as the elves sought to ready themselves for the oncoming attack that had suddenly ambushed them from out of the surrounding mountains. Ravenne stood upon a low knoll beside the calm waters of lake Mithrim whose shimmering surface glistened with wavering strands of silver in the starlight; a serene vision that belied the oncoming storm. Her jet black waist length hair strayed in the night breeze, revealing her face in full that was of stern expression, and her keen grey eyes were alert to all about. Warriors with burnished shields and tall helms hastily gathered in formation as messengers ran hither and thither on urgent errands, and captains called out their commands. The clink of shining armour and ringing of flashing swords came to her ears.

The armies of Fëanor were arrayed in a long defensive line that stood as a defiant wall, erected to stay a black tide that raged and surged towards them. Each phalanx stood at least five lines deep across a wide flat grassland that was bordered on both sides by two rivers that flowed down from the mountains to the lake. The elvish warriors that stood before Ravenne lay under the command of Celegorm, and they were the southernmost company that defended Fëanor's right flank and stood by the banks of both the lake and its southerly tributary river. Some distance behind the defensive line stood a multitude of wains that were spread over a great distance from north to south. In these were all the elves precious belongings that they had brought over from Aman. There also were their food supplies, tools and a vast amount of weaponry and armour. Stood about these wains was a great throng who were all the women and children of the Fëanorrim, standing silent in fearful anticipation.

A grim smile slowly formed upon Ravenne's face as she watched the swift preparations that came of a camp that was not full wrought or put in defence. She had defied the order to stand by the wains in relative safety, but had rather placed herself just behind the battle lines on the gentle rise, being driven by a perilous curiosity and an unfettered pride. For Ravenne would not stand cowering at the rear with the rest of the women and children whilst the enemy they had journeyed long to face now charged their elvish ranks. Even as the warriors gathered in their places of defence, she had seized a great banner that was hung upon a long black staff and strode forward undeterred.

Upon reaching the knoll, she thrust the staff deep into the ground and turned to face the enemy, standing tall and proud beside the standard that she unfurled, displaying the emblazoned fiery design of the Star of Fëanor. Many warriors turned towards her, acknowledging her proud stance with gentle nods and grim smiles. But little did she and the others who were at her side know of their peril, as they stood armourless upon that open place. For she was not alone as there were a few other bold women who were of the same mind as she, and had followed her to the knoll in an act of symbolic defiance. They all wished to see with their own eyes the dreaded orc armies of Morgoth that had been somewhat described to them by those of the Sindar they had come across in the lands of Mithrim.

It had not been easy to converse with these elves as their speech was sundered by a parting of thousands of years. Yet through meaningful gestures and swift learning, the Noldor were made to understand but a little, the dangers they were to face in Middle-earth. However, Fëanor and his people were not daunted by the Sindar's warnings, and many blew their horns to the silent mountains that stood before them, as if to taunt the rumoured enemy. The din had startled the Sindarin elves who then fled back to the hills, leaving the Fëanorrim to their fate.

"Craven fools!" Fëanor had cried after them. "See how they fly back to their caves! But no matter. Let the meek flee to the shadows whilst we of stout heart go forth to overcome our foe. Our deeds of valour shall succour these unhappy Moriquendi, then shall they know that the glorious Calaquendi have indeed returned. And by our victories shall they see that unlike them, we inherited the courage of our fathers, who of old held on their way and were not faint of heart as they sought the enlightenment and bliss of Aman!"

So said Fëanor who then put a horn to his lips and shattered the airs with his cry of challenge to his foes. He blew such a blast that leapt forth to careen against the mountain sides with echoing blows, the dint of which filled all the valleys and ravines before them with a great ringing din. Thereafter they had resumed their march, skirting the mountains of Mithrim to their right and passed on eastward until they came to the great lake they had been told of. Here they decided to set up camp as the land was fair and water was abundant. Yet the challenge for war was accepted far sooner than Fëanor had reckoned.

So things now stood as Ravenne turned to the other women on the mound and found their courage wavering. All were tense and wide eyed, being filled with a growing fear and doubt. Already the horns of the unseen enemy sounded much nearer and the savage cries of the orcs swept downwind to their ears from afar. Yet no elf there fully knew of what to expect from this new threat. Besides the fearful descriptions of the Sindar, only Fëanor and a handful of others, loremasters maybe, had some idea as to the orcs. For there were but few records in Tirion that gave strange accounts of the great journey from Cuiviénen to Aman. In those tales were some that spoke of ruined beings that were fearful to behold, that had fled the western wars when Utumno was vanquished.

These creatures had been seen by the northernmost elvish wandering companies, yet the orcs had fled from the Eldar, thinking perhaps they were the eastern armies of the Valar that were come to rout their survivors. However, the elves they saw instinctively did not seek to speak with them or to pursue them, as they themselves were filled with a fear and loathing towards the foul creatures. Each had skirted the other in the ancient wilderness, but the elves did not altogether forget of them. In the days of bliss in Aman, a few recalled their dark remembrances and had them written down. Yet these tales were only known to but a few as most chose to ignore or forget the more sinister tales of their great trek. But the said orcs were no longer to be viewed as a myth by the Noldor, but as real foes that were emboldened by their returned master, and at his command now bore down upon them from the north and east.

Lords, captains and warriors of the Fëanorrim all felt the doubtful pangs of uncertainty. The presumed safety of the wains was of no comfort either, as women and children huddled together in the throes of a rising fear. But Ravenne was still defiant in the mounting dark. She looked up to the heavens for the silver hue of the stars seemed to diminish. Indeed, great stormclouds that had rolled in from the west now swept over their heads, devouring the meagre starlight as they spread an ominous shadow over the field. The hearts of the elves fell yet again as most thought the darkening to be an omen of doom. Ravenne's attention turned to the warriors who stood at the foot of the knoll. They too were looking skyward and some raised their fists.

"Behold the wrath of the Valar that dims the light of the world to the benefit of our foes!" they cried bitterly. "Surely they are in league with Morgoth!"

Even as they said these things, there was a distant clash of steel and faint cries. All heads turned northward and a murmur of voices rose, sweeping southward upon the wind with new tidings. "Our army is engaged with the enemy to the north!"

A captain now came among the warriors nearest Ravenne, urging all to gather their courage as the storm of war was almost upon them. Truly he spoke, for at that moment there came a noise as if a wind had arisen in the east, and now swept westward towards their ranks. All who stood there fell silent, listening perforce to the approaching hiss.

Suddenly the captain gave a cry. "Ware! Ware! The arrows of the enemy are upon us!" Swiftly, shields were raised in grim anticipation but the captain looked to the women, gesturing wildly at them. "Away from the rise you maidens!" he cried. "Flee to the wains!"

But his warning came too late for the arrows rained down upon the elves at that moment as a deadly hail of black darts. The warriors endured the perilous downpour but there was chaos upon the knoll. Women ran hither and thither screaming. Some wounded were crawling away while others lay dead. Ravenne rose unharmed from where she crouched, silently cursing her foolishness in standing armourless in so open a place.

She reached for the arm of one who lay before her and recognized the face. "Annis!" she called. "Let me help you."

But Ravenne spoke to one who was far beyond hearing for she was dead; pierced by two black shafted arrows. Ravenne looked about her and the ghastly sight of dart ridden bodies was reflected in her glistening grey eyes. Some lay facing her and she recalled their names and how they were in life; beautiful elven women of gay spirit who would no longer laugh or sing, or fall in love and marry and raise families. Now they lay dead as their spirits fled and winged their way back across the western seas to the halls of Mandos, leaving crumpled bodies with lifeless expressions upon fair faces. For the first time, real fear assailed Ravenne. But all was not lost as there were some who lay hard by, crying out for aid in their agony. She ran over to one and clutched her fallen comrade's arms that were strained towards her in an outstretched plea.

"Do not worry Mótare," Ravenne said soothingly as she hauled her kinswoman up. "I am here for you."

Others were rescued by warriors who now sprang to the aid of their wounded womenfolk, nimbly carrying them off towards the wains. Ravenne clasped her charge close as they left the knoll, and the wounded woman gasped through clenched teeth in her pain as she limped forward while Ravenne spoke soft words of encouragement. She turned her head back in anger so as to witness the defence that would surely avenge their dead, but her fury was swiftly chilled to sorrow as she saw that a few warriors had also fallen and among them lay the captain, who in giving his warning had left himself exposed to the arrows deadly bite. She turned back and pressed on towards the wains.

A call of warning went up again, causing Ravenne to pause tensely as another wave of black darts fell about her. She stood there wincing at each striking thud in fearful anticipation, yet sighed with relief when the airs cleared. She was unharmed and so continued on, struggling with exertion under the dead weight of her wounded charge.

"I cannot carry you all the way Mótare!" she gasped. "I also need your help." But Mótare did not answer.

Ravenne halted and turned Mótare's face but was greeted by blank eyes staring at the ground. Ravenne gently laid her down, closed her kinswoman's grey eyes and knelt for a moment with bowed head, seemingly heedless to all about her. From behind came a resounding clash and cries rose amid the din of battle. Ravenne turned swiftly towards the knoll. The elves there had engaged the enemy at last and amid their cries could be heard the snarls and yells of the orcs.

"Do they fight beasts?" Ravenne muttered as she rose and began to run towards safety. Yet even as she sprang forward, a horseman drew up to her and bid her halt with a harsh voice.

"See what your foolishness would do Ravenne!" he cried. "Women have been needlessly slain upon the knoll while others run wild and heedless in their fear and hinder our men who fight to protect them."

"Then what are you doing here Tyelcormo?" Ravenne returned. "Have you left the battle lines just to tell me that?"

The prince stiffened visibly in his saddle but Ravenne was undaunted. "Go to where you are most needed, unless the battle has proven too hot for you."

Celegorm's eyes glinted as he bristled beneath his armour, but he turned his horse away with a click of his tongue and galloped swiftly back to the fray. Ravenne watched him go, both annoyed yet anxious for the third son of Fëanor.

~oOo~

She had known Celegorm since childhood, for Sailanambar her father had been a great smith in the service of Fëanor, aiding him in teaching the art of craftsmanship to those of the Noldor who wished to learn. Both families had been very close in friendship, but this had ended with Fëanor's banishment as Sailanambar had not sided with his deeds towards Fingolfin. And though a great love lay between father and daughter, Ravenne did not follow Sailanambar's counsel in the matter, deeming that the friendships of the children should not end through the misdeeds of the parents.

But Sailanambar did not agree with her and said, "Dearest daughter, heed me in this. Far and free shall the choices of Fëanáro take him and his sons, yet all his counsels and deeds shall be overshadowed by darkness. It grieves me deeply that such should happen to this great son of the Noldor, but Feanaro has sown a seed of the darkness to come by raising his sword against Nolofinwe his kinsman. Fey indeed has the son of Miriel become! Therefore follow not the dark path Fëanáro shall yet lead the Noldor, I beg you!"

But Ravenne would not listen to her father and so to his grief and sorrow; she followed her friends, the sons of Fëanor to Formenos.

As one of the people of Fëanor she became thereafter, being a closer friend to Celegorm than all the other brothers. Yet in truth she had long harboured in her heart a pain most grievous to elves. For she loved Celegorm yet he had never shown her anything more than brotherly affection. This was held to be strange by those who guessed at their friendship, for the dark beauty of Ravenne was very great, such that royalty would deem her fit for a queen. But not so with Celegorm it seemed.  
So it was between them, and in every endeavour, Ravenne stood by Celegorm as a dutiful sister; his confidant; his companion; his dear friend. Whether on the hunt or at leisure, she was seldom apart from the brothers, so much so that others gave her the title _"Fëanáriel"_ which is _"Daughter of Fëanáro."_ Upon hearing of this, Fëanor declared that it was truly so, for he had been greatly moved by her choice to follow him into exile, forsaking her beloved father. Therefore to honour her loyalty as well as show his love, he indeed called her daughter when they were together.

Yet as the long years passed in Aman, so too did the sorrow of Ravenne's heart harden to bitterness, so that she became somewhat grim and silent. Evermore seldom was her laughter heard in the halls and gardens of Formenos, and her smile was bequeathed to but a few. She held herself tall and proud and had but few friends outside the royal house. But less were of womenfolk, for as time passed she was found more in the company of men. Yet because of her secret longing, to none was her heart's love given though many a lord sought her favour. But so great was her beauty and noble bearing, along with her close friendship with the royal house that in time her people esteemed her as the _Lady of the Fëanorrim_, peer of the elven lords of Formenos.

She was beheld by many through meek eyes, as a woman who was stern and strong, who possessed a lofty beauty that was only to be admired from afar, and yet coldly acknowledged in return; unattainable to any suitor. For what love she had was given mostly to her ideal of the Fëanorrim. This indeed became apparent to all as whenever she was moved to speak at length, she would debate issues of disquiet with proud words. Talk of the power of the Fëanorrim in Aman is what she mostly spoke of, echoing the sentiments of Fëanor, and in all speech against the Valar, she was most vocal. So fell a shadow upon Ravenne in which the bitterness of her unrequited love played a major part.

But a greater shadow fell upon all in the Blessed Land of the Valar. For Teleperion and Laurelin were both destroyed by Ungoliant, and Finwe the King was slain before the doors of Formenos by Morgoth. In Tirion, Fëanor and his sons uttered the terrible Oath and thereafter came the Flight of the Noldor.

Upon returning to Tirion with Fëanor, Ravenne was reunited with Sailanambar her father, but he was filled with an even greater sorrow and grief upon seeing the grim change that had come upon his daughter. Long he sought to dissuade her once again from following Fëanor and his brood as she stood silent in her father's house. The walls about them flickered red in the torch light, mimicking the garish mood of disquiet that prevailed over the city. The sound of hurrying feet; calling voices; carts clattering along paved roads; a general pandemonium came to them from outside.

In that dark hour, Sailanambar pleaded for his daughter to hold to hope and remain with her family, but all that he said was in vain for at length she halted him with laughter that chilled his heart. Loud it echoed about the dim walls, yet it was cold and mirthless. Sailanambar then fell silent, staring at Ravenne with a growing fear as she said strange things that could not have come from the lips of the daughter he knew and loved.

"Stay you say!" she suddenly cried with flashing eyes. "Stay for what dear father? There is nothing for me here. There has never been anything for me in Aman, not even the happiness that is the right of all who dwell in the Blessed Land. Nay, the bliss of Aman that failed me years ago has now failed all who dwell here and that may be of some comfort to me. But now I shall leave this accursed land and seek to fulfil my destiny elsewhere. Whatever may be of this Endórë we have heard of, this at least shall be true: We shall be masters of our own fate, neither cozened by the Valar who have so utterly failed us, nor comforted by their fruitless doctrines that they have only served to blind us with. The Light that was meant to overpower the Darkness has been all but consumed by it. Aman has failed as the Valar have failed. Love of ease, laughter and bliss has come to naught. Only wrath and vengeance for those who have been wronged must rule the day!

Morgoth has rendered his kindred Valar impotent, but we Noldor shall do more than they. For we shall pursue him as we pursue our new destiny. We shall start anew in Endórë and contend with our enemy for every inch of soil which through our sacrifice of blood, sweat and toil, shall in time become the fields and gardens of our new realms. And our people shall be governed by lordships and ladyships as men and women stand together as equals in battle and otherwise.

And what of our endgame! For we do not forget the rape of the Silmarils or the murder of our king. Yea father! I witnessed that ghastly act with my own eyes and I will never forget the horror of that deed. It is graven in my memory and in my heart, yet I shall nurture the pain it gives me and so garner the vengeful strength I will need as we soldier on against the enemy in a distant land. Know that Lord Finwe shall be avenged and we shall not rest until all the Silmarils are recovered. Indeed the Noldor will look to that! So save your speeches to me father, for I am immune to their effect. Rather bid your daughter farewell and let us part at that."

So said Ravenne to Sailanambar her father amid the backdrop of the chaos in Tirion when Fëanor roused the Noldor to leave Aman.

Yet the hopes of Ravenne were soon checked as Fëanor would allow no woman to fight in battle with the Teleri of Alqualondë. Yet afterwards, and by her request, the women of the Fëanorrim were trained in the arts of war. For Fëanor assented at last to Ravenne's argument that the women had at least the right to learn how to defend themselves as they might be forced to do should they reach the perilous lands of Middle-earth. Yet even now, with the enemy attacking them in earnest, the women were thrust behind the battle lines, treated as possessions that had to be saved and protected rather than as fellow elves who should be given armour and sword to also fight for what they believed in.

~oOo~

So now Ravenne stood, still smarting from the curt reprimand given to her by Celegorm. If only she could take up a sword and shield and aid in driving the enemy back, then he would see that she was more to be reckoned with than as a woman who was to be rebuked for displaying a manly courage deemed unbefitting of a lady. After a bitter moment she turned away and started back towards the wains. Yet there came shouts from behind and looking back again, she could see warriors drawing towards her with wounded comrades in tow. She swiftly ran to their aid, linking a wounded knight's arm over her neck so as to support his limping form.

"How goes the battle?" she asked him as they walked forward.

"It goes better for us than it should as we are far outnumbered," he answered grimly. "Indeed we have recovered from our initial horror of the creatures we face; the orcs of Morgoth. They are ghastly to behold, with faces that are misshapen with malice and evil. They are also fell and strong and fight with reckless hatred. Nonetheless, we hold them at bay, for such is the valour of the Fëanorrim at need."

They were nearing the wains now and several maidens came forward to aid the wounded soldiers. They swiftly tended to them, using all manner of herbs of wholesome virtue and healing salves from Aman. Ravenne left the knight in capable hands and turned to look back at the battle lines. A fervent eagerness to join her comrades and smite the impetuous enemy festered without hope as she glimpsed flashes of working swords and raised shields. Frustrated, she turned to glance about her and beheld a flurry of activity as women lent themselves to the task at hand, aiding each other in tending the wounded. Gone was their fear and uncertainty. Once more a grim smile came to Ravenne's face: the Noldor would not be so easily defeated as their proud spirits would yet rally against the odds. Both men and women were strong, being filled with the indomitable vigour of the blessed land of Aman that still coursed like fire through their veins.

Suddenly there was a searing flash of light and a crackling din that tore the night airs asunder as if the sky itself were at war in a spectacular clash of lightning and thunder. Rain began to fall; heavy drops that multiplied into a pouring cascade that swiftly turned into a blinding torrent. Raging winds howled, assailing the elves with the icy chill of cold invisible hands. It were as if the skies were in collusion with the enemy, and now sought to aid the will of evil in beating the elvish resistance down into despair.

Swiftly were frightened children wrapped in cloaks and blankets and thrust under the billowing canvas of the wains and shielded by their desperate mothers. Yet the brave maidens continued to work for the wounded, hauling those they could beneath the wain carriages for shelter, or else they continued to work undeterred in the open, drenched to the skin as they ignored the lashing downpour. Ravenne turned upward, squinting at the flashing sky with blinking eyes.

"Hear me O Valar?" she cried to the heavens. "Endórë will not defeat the Fëanorrim! We will defy each challenge this land throws at us!"

She shook her fists at the sky that momentarily lit up to reveal a vast tear in the black ceiling, letting through a vision of tumultuous silver tipped grey clouds that rose dome upon swirling dome to unguessed heights. The gargantuan towers lit up of their own accord as they were seared by inner lightnings that illuminated their grey walls.

"O Manwë whom all storms and winds obey, what more do you have in store for our dismay!" came Ravenne's defiant shout.

Swiftly was she answered for at that moment there came the sound of an approaching rider, galloping in from the west. The women there looked to his approach in wonder, and Ravenne strode forward to meet him. The rider came to a halt and leapt off his steed in great haste.

"What news?" she asked as the tall hooded form came before her.

"Lady Vanyamórë," he said, recognizing her despite the darkness and the wall of rain cascading between them. He pulled down his hood in a swift motion, revealing a pale face that seemed greatly distressed. "I am one of the scouts who was sent to the southern shores of the lake and the lands yonder." He pointed away southward over the shattered lake surface. "Yet I have ridden back in haste with an urgent warning. The enemy is cunning for a great force comes this way even as I speak, having rounded the lake from the south so as to attack us from behind, coming from the west. There are many fell beasts that are moving swiftly, following the northern shoreline."

The urgency in his voice immediately stirred Ravenne into action. She sprang away, flying towards the nearby wains that were stored with weaponry. Ignoring the surprised stare of the guardians who stood there, she peered into the interior of one; her grey eyes roving to and fro until they found what she sought.

"Women of the Fëanorrim! Hold yourselves in readiness for the enemy bears down upon you from the west!"

So went up the cry that caught the attention of many who stood there. The scout had not been idle for even as Ravenne leapt away, he sprung into action himself, running hither and thither, calling his warning to all he came across. Those women that heard him were stricken by these new dread tidings, and the fears they had suppressed now resurfaced in their hearts. Some of the wounded warriors beckoned to him.

"Tell us what you have seen," they asked. He told them as they looked to each other with troubled glances. "Word of this new peril must reach our lords with all haste," they said, pointing eastward to where the battle raged on. "Go swiftly to our captains there and warn them. They will send those of our warriors who can be spared to defend our rear."

Yet at that moment there sounded the clear and resonant blast of a horn. Its call rose above the din of the storm, inducing all who would heed to listen. There was Ravenne, stood atop the billowing canvas of a wain and skilfully balanced upon the apex of an arched wooden rib. She had on a shirt of mail, overlaid with a black surcoat that displayed the Star of Fëanor in silver. In her left hand was a horn with a baldric of gold, graven with elven runes of power that were wound about it from tip to mouth. In her right hand was a sword that trailed a long ribbon of water off its blade in the sweeping winds.

"Hear me my womenfolk!" she cried in a great voice and all about her stood still, staring with wide eyes. "Tidings have reached us of the enemy that now seeks to attack us from the west, catching our army off guard as they attack our rear."

This drew fearful gasps from those who had not yet heard the news, while those who had strove within themselves to quell their rising fears.

"Yet Morgoth and his orcs have reckoned nothing of the women of the Fëanorrim," Ravenne continued. "Perhaps deeming that we shall cower before them, screaming and fleeing as they cut us down. That may be as it was with the womenfolk of the Moriquendi but not so with us. Our men have work enough as they fight to hold the enemy at bay eastward. Too few can come to our aid to hold this new force back whilst we are herded like cattle to the centre for our protection. We as women came not to Endórë for the sole purpose of tending to our husbands households. Or to bear their children or through our love, keep our menfolk content at such times when they should set aside the grim policies of war for mirth. Were we not also moved to seek revenge for our fallen king and the rape of the Silmarils? Our lord Fëanaro spoke of these things to us all in Tirion, and not to the men only. We have braved the long journey from the easy certainties of life in Aman to the great unknown of Endórë. Now that we are come, we must not falter but should continue to prove our courage in the face of the mounting odds that are set against us!"

Women now looked to each other, some nodding their assent to what was said to them. Grim expressions darkened fair faces and grey eyes began to brighten with the steady flames of a newly roused purpose.

"Tell me my sisters," continued Ravenne. "Where is it said that our Noldorin men surpass their women in courage and valour, the two traits to live by in a perilous land? But the women I see before me have those traits in abundance, and the time has come to show this to our menfolk. Let them know that they need not scramble to our aid when peril assails us, for we can look to ourselves in times of war and equally do our part in valour beside them!"

Assenting cries now came from the gathering crowd as Ravenne's words touched their womanly pride which swelled to a rising courage that overthrew their fears of the approaching enemy. Now Ravenne sought to hammer her final point home.

"Therefore women of the Fëanorrim, I say to you, arise from meek thought! Let the pride of the eldest house of Finwë soar in your brave hearts!"

More women cried out their support and the embers of wrath that had been kindled by Fëanor in Tirion and had but cooled through the passage of time were fanned once more to flame. Their gleaming eyes now beheld as it were, their leader; the Lady of the Fëanorrim whom no braveheart could deny.

"Now for wrath!" cried Ravenne.

"For wrath!" came the rousing answer.

"Now for vengeance!" she returned.

"For vengeance!" roared the reply.

"Death to our enemy!" she declared.

"Death!" cried the women of the Fëanorrim with voices that rose to a terrible crescendo.

Ravenne raised a hand that presently silenced them. Her lone voice rose above the howling winds and hissing rains, stirring every heart that heard her command.

"Therefore girt yourselves my womenfolk with sword and shield! Arm yourselves with spears! Let shining helms cover heads and bright mail protect torsos. Let horns blow to the westward winds in loud challenge to our foes! Let tall banners be raised and unfurled to reveal our insignia that should fill the enemy's sights from afar. And may they quail at the sight of the Star of Fëanáro!"

She looked down at the warriors who had carried in the injured, and her gaze turned to the wounded men who had seemingly forgotten their agonies, all of whom stood or lay agape with sheer astonishment at what they heard and beheld.

"To you men who may still be doubtful of our strength and resolve, I would say _take heed_. To think that you all deemed our army's rear to be undefended, reckoning nothing of the great throng that stood deedless behind you!"

As she spoke, she set her sword before her, sweeping its blade above the women's upturned faces. "But I see an army here, and an _army_ _of women too_! Let the enemy beware of the _Ohtatyeronissi_ of Fëanaro!"

As she said this, she raised her sword high and a cold white flame ran up and down the length of its blade. A strong gust of wind leapt up, thrusting back her rain soaked hair and fully revealed her pale face that was stern and resolute; with eyes that shone bright and fell in the dark. The airs flickered and blinked and Ravenne was wreathed by a blinding flash of lightning, and it seemed to the eyes of all that they beheld a brief vision.

She seemed to have grown in stature, standing before them as a fey being whose glittering eyes of wrath were bent upon them from on high. Yet her face filled all with awe for it held a great majesty; with the chiselled features of some great power of old that radiated a beauty both terrible and worshipful. Her dark hair flared with an aura of power, whose waving strands flowed into a billowing mantle of shadow that was draped about her shoulders and cascaded downwards, swirling about her like a coiling black smoke. Yet in her hand was held a brand of silver flame; a dread weapon that would serve as a beacon of hope to elves and yet as a weapon of death to all their enemies.

Women and men all stared, amazed at the vision of the Lady of the Fëanorrim. Then an earsplitting clap of thunder resounded in the air and the vision faded from sight as swiftly as it had come. Yet it had served its purpose as the din of the storm were now challenged by a great swelling cry that rose from the women of the Fëanorrim that stood there. As grim and resolute as they had been, now their eyes blazed with the resplendent light of Aman as all fear diminished from their hearts beyond recall. Ravenne had roused them to great wrath and the vision of her as a fey maiden of war who would lead them into battle all but committed their resolve.

It was plain that all the people of Fëanor were needed to aid in the defence if they were to attain victory; the women understood that now. Many mothers in the crowd looked to their children who cowered under the canvas of the wains, peering out with wide frightened eyes. Some of these clutched at each other for comfort and a few elder ones now aided with the crying babes, cradling them in their little arms and cooing to them to hush with tiny voices. It seemed the little ones understood the plight of their elders, and sought to aid them bravely in their own small way. A fierce sense of protectiveness overcame the women and silent oaths were then made in their hearts that both father and mother would fight to the death to protect their offspring from harm.

Now the womenfolk surged forward to the wains that held weapons and armour and the guardians stepped aside, staring in wonder as the women swiftly armed themselves. Ravenne, still perched atop the wain, saw the rush of women towards the wains spread northward as the sentiments of her rousing speech passed from mouth to mouth to those out of earshot. It was indeed an amazing sight as the women of the Fëanorrim galvanized their strength. Indeed Fëanor himself could have done no better than Ravenne, daughter of Sailanambar in that glorious hour.

Ravenne leapt down from the wain and strode towards the scout who stood as if mesmerised alongside warriors both wounded and hale. They all beheld her with wide staring eyes, seeing her in a new light. Great as she had been regarded by both men and women of the Fëanorrim, this now elevated her evermore so in their eyes. Now she was as a woman above all others in strength of courage, pride and purpose; a woman whose title as the "Lady of the Fëanorrim" was all but truly vindicated. Awe was in their glance as they silently gazed at her approach.

"My Lady," said the scout, bowing low in courtesy when Ravenne was stood before him.

"Understand what you see here," she said, addressing all the men who were nearby. "The intended valour of our womenfolk should not be hindered by the unheeding command of our lords, who would have us remain deedless in battle save to tend and to comfort. There is more to us than that! Yet know that we shall not abandon the lighter duties assigned to us as we take it upon ourselves to fight as our men fight. Do not worry. We shall be both healers to our wounded, and yet warriors to our foes. Our women can do that! Therefore let our lords count the swords available to them in our defence as to have multiplied. No captain should deny themselves this newfound advantage!"

She turned then to the scout and laid a hand firmly upon his shoulder. "Yet for all my boast and brag of the prowess of our women, I would still be prudent and ask for a little aid. Therefore if you will, ride northward to where our lords Fëanaro and Canafinwë are in the fight. Our cavalry is stationed with their forces and if it is not yet engaged with the enemy, I would have them ride after us to aid in our defence."

The scout bowed low again. "It shall be as you wish my lady," he said, and was swiftly on his horse, plunging into the torrential dark. Yet even before he leapt into his saddle, a howling could be heard in the far distance. The enemy had come!

"Lady Vanyamórë!" said one of the warriors. "Are you sure you know of what you are asking our womenfolk to do?"

Ravenne turned a perilous gaze upon him that had the warrior lower his eyes in an act of withdrawal.  
"This choice lies before you O men of the Fëanorrim!" she cried with eyes still flaming upon the one who spoke. "Battle lies east and west, of which your blades shall be a welcome addition to both instances. Yet I and those who follow me know the path that is set before us. Go therefore where you will, but hinder me not!"

With that, Ravenne ran forward towards her warriors. "Let few women stay behind," she cried, "to mind the young ones and tend to the wounded. The rest of you must follow the command to hold yourselves in readiness!"

She passed swiftly through the gathering lines to stand before them, peering westward with squinting eyes in an effort to pierce the torrential dark, but nothing could she yet see. Only eerie howls came to them, riding atop the wailing winds and the hissing rains. She then turned to the great throng that stood behind her who were fair ladies all grim faced, armoured and armed. None seemed dismayed by the rumour of the enemy's approach. Indeed they were ready, but were they enough?

As if reading her mind, one came towards her and bowed. "My Lady, most of the women from the houses of Lord Turcafinwë and Lord Curufinwë have given themselves to your command. Yet your word spreads northward like wildfire, and those of the other houses are sure to follow."

Ravenne nodded and smiled. "I thank you Alcániel. Let word of our departure set forth and urge all who would to take up arms and follow as swiftly as they may. For I deem we shall require all the strength of the Fëanorrim's women if we are to defeat this enemy."

Alcániel bowed. "As you wish my Lady," she said and disappeared into the armoured crowds.

Ravenne unsheathed her sword and turned to her warriors. "Now is the hour my womenfolk!" she cried to them. "The enemy howls but let that not dismay you. Think of our helpless children whom we fight for to protect! Think of the oaths spoken in our hearts of our revenge and the redress of the wrongs done to us by Morgoth! We do not know fear! We cannot conceive defeat! Gather your strength and muster your courage! Forth O Women of Fëanáro! Forth to war!"

She then set her helm upon her head and a great cry of all their voices went up to the black heavens. With that, they leapt forward, moving swiftly over the plain to meet the hounds of Angband.

For indeed it were wolves that came forth, bounding over the plains of Mithrim as the vanguard of the orcish force, howling with slavering jaws and red tongues. Their claws tore at the ground as they hurtled forward, herded into formation by wolf-riders that hemmed them together upon each flank. Further behind came the main host of the enemy; line after line of orcs that held on their way tirelessly with long loping strides; being driven by the dark will of their master.

The orc armies were already in the mountains of Ered Wethrin when Fëanor and his host came to a halt beside lake Mithrim. There they were espied from afar and the orc captains decided to ambush the elves with a two-pronged attack from east and west, hoping to trap the Noldor in the centre and utterly destroy them. Thus this army was sent out early as they had to travel far and with stealth before engaging their enemy. Their ranks were therefore made up of large bold orcs of great stamina and strength, as well as swift wolves and other creatures that were more terrible.

Long was the route they had taken, issuing from the Ered Wethrin to traverse the twelve leagues that spanned the length of lake Mithrim from end to end. They had rested as long as they dared under the shadow of the Mountains of Mithrim before going on warily now, to cover the twelve long leagues back eastward. They moved with great speed as they were anxious to arrive at the appointed time when the greater eastern force should assail the elves with a full frontal attack that would hold them until the surprise from the rear, catching the elves between hammer and anvil. But now the keen eyes of the wolf-riders saw an elven host sweeping towards them and uneasiness took them, seeing that their plan for surprise had failed. Nevertheless, the riders swept out their curved blades, yelling to the wolves to charge.

But even as the wolf-riders cried aloud, the keen eyes of Ravenne and her warrior women saw their enemy from afar. A lightning flash illuminated the landscape, revealing the grassland ahead to slope into an easy depression, at the bottom of which flowed a small stream. The further bank rose a little sharper, receding as a grey plain. The dark returned as the elves came on, flying down the slope. Lightning seared again, blinking in succession, but now the grey distance was dotted with dark shapes that seemed to grow as they drew near.

"Halt!" cried Ravenne with a raised hand. "Fell beasts approach! Let those with spears array themselves swiftly behind me."

Her command was relayed along the battle lines and a long silver tipped hedge was formed behind her. The rain continued to fall heavily, running over helm, mail and sword as watery veins that ran over edges in shimmering rivulets. The lightning continued to flash brightly but the din of thunder was now quelled to a distant rumbling. Soon the wolf baying rolled clearly towards them, and the hearts of many grew fearful as they could clearly see with elven sight, the creatures that now bore down upon them. The vile beasts were scarcely to be imagined in the most nightmarish of dreams.

"Fear not!" cried Ravenne as if sensing the rising dread of the women about her. "On my command let the foremost line release their spears and swiftly make way for those behind!"

The women clasped tightly at their spear shafts, and some made silent prayers to the Valar they had abandoned in Aman.

"Throw only on my command!" Ravenne repeated. "And aim true, for every spear must count!"

The howling wolves came on, thrusting forward at a greater pace as they bounded down the long slope.  
"Let spears fly!" came Ravenne's command.

The foremost line of women stepped forward and heaved their spears at their enemies. Point and shaft sped through the airs in high arcs and came down upon the wolves as deadly bolts from out of the dark sky. Whether it were skill or fate, each javelin found a mark, piercing fur and hide to wound or slay. Wolves crashed to the ground with their long snouts buried in the mud. Others were bowled over by those that fell before them, yet many of these were slain by the next wave of spears that came down upon them, and the next. Then the wolvish onset was halted and many turned tail, being mortally afraid of the deadly spears that had killed and maimed so many of their number.

But the wolf-rider captains were filled with rage and some came on, leaping over the stream and charging up towards the elvish lines that were now very near. Their wolf steeds sprang forward in great bounds, cunningly steered to elude the flying spears. Then they hurled themselves into the elvish defence, scattering the lines as they tore with gaping jaws and rent with their sharp claws at those unfortunate to fall beneath them. But the Ohtatyeronissi swiftly recovered and came to the aid of their stricken, hewing down both wolf and rider with vengeful swords. Soon all the attackers were slain and the battle-lines were swiftly reformed. The remaining wolf-riders turned to follow the wolves, fleeing back westward into the gloom, and blowing their guttural horns wildly as they ran.

A great cry went up and swords were raised high in victory, but Ravenne blew her horn to silence them.  
"Do not cheer my warrior women!" she cried. "The wolves are defeated but they are only the vanguard. We have yet to face our enemy's main host."

Her eyes looked to the many dark shapes lying motionless on the ground ahead of them.  
"Yet take heed my bravehearts!" she continued. "As we are indeed victorious in our first test against the enemy."

She turned to look about her and saw the dead orcs and their fell steeds, yet lying there also were a few brave maidens. There were women who stood around these bodies, lamenting sorrowfully for the loss of their friends.

"Nay! Do not weep!" Ravenne said to them with tears welling in her own eyes. "There is no time to mourn as our enemy awaits us. Let the valiant fallen lay awhile in peace. Now we must go forward with vengeance hot in our hearts. Let the orcs tremble with fear at our onset. Forth my _Ohtatyeronissi_!"

Surging forward once again, they leapt over the stream and drove up the far slope, wrenching their spears free from the corpses of the wolves that had fallen. The ground levelled and stretched before them as a field of wet grass that flashed grey in the storm light. Soon the land rose up ahead to a shallow ridge, atop of which stood a long line of shadows. The elves came on until they clearly saw the enemy up ahead that stood upon the crest of the rise, bordered by the lake to the left and stretching on into the northerly dark. Ravenne called for a halt as her grey eyes warily surveyed the orc-lines that stood, unmoving and ominous in their silence. Her army arrayed itself behind her into two phalanxes, with the house of Celegorm to the left and the house of Curufin to the right. Yet the stretch of the enemy exceeded that of the elves, far outnumbering Ravenne and her warriors. The rains continued to pour, the winds howled and lightning flashed, illuminating the dark figures upon the ridge with stark clarity against the churning clouds above them.

The elves hesitated. "What do they wait for my Lady?" asked one who stood nearby.

Ravenne was silent for a moment as she was unsure herself. Perhaps they were afraid to attack, seeing how their wolves were routed.

"They stand in fear and doubt, Maquetimë," she said at last. "They did not think we would beat their wolves back. Now it shall be as I said before. Let them see our standard unfurled before their eyes, and so strike fear into their black hearts. The Star of Feanaro shall claim its due...the lives of our enemies!"

She motioned to one who held a long black staff with a cloth wrapped and tied to one end. "Wendel," she called. "Unfurl our banner!"

The standard bearer did as she was told, her nimble fingers swiftly untying the golden bindings that were wound about the silken cloth. She raised the long pole and the Star of Fëanor rippled free in the gusts of the storm. All the women looked up to it with stirring pride in their hearts. The command was given and they resumed their march towards the enemy. Yet if the orcs were daunted or dismayed, they did not show it. They all stood statue-like, as dark sentinels that barred the way with hidden menace and threatening silence.

The elves were about four hundred yards from the enemy lines when the orcs showed movement. Each raised an arm to the sky with the other drawn back. The elves continued to march forward, heedless of their imminent peril, yet many noted the orcs sudden change of stance with unease. A great cry went up and swept downwind and the elves saw slight movements of the orcs arms. There came a hiss that was sharper than that of the rains and Ravenne suddenly realised to her dismay.

"Raise your shields!" she cried frantically. "The arrows of the enemy are upon us!"

The women raised their shield arms over their heads, crouching low as they did this and the arrows fell upon a field of burnished steel and clattered aside to the ground. Then the warriors rose but there were some who slumped aside and fell dead to the ground. Ravenne cursed herself for her mistake and looked with sorrow upon those who had fallen, chiding herself inwardly for her blunder.

Now she turned back to the orcs with cold anger. "On I say!" she shouted. "The fallen shall be avenged!"

They all surged forward, moving at a quicker pace. Again a deadly hail was sent against them which most fended off. Another shower rained upon them but now the enemy was close, no more than a furlong away. When they rose, Ravenne leapt forward at a swift run and the rest followed suit. They sped over the field with blazing eyes and kindled wrath as the battle fury rose in their hearts. The orc archers attacks had failed and they were filled with dread at their enemy's swift approach. Many stepped back with frightened glances, but the elvish hearts were uplifted upon seeing the orcs terror and their voices rose to a great shout; a war-cry that came loud and terrible to the ears of the soldiery of Angband.

Now Ravenne and her force were no more than fifty yards from the enemy lines when she called for a sudden halt.  
"Spears!" she cried and as before, the warrior women cast their deadly weapons at the enemy.

Many orc archers fell and their lines jostled in frantic retreat as wave after wave of spears were cast at them. However, the panicked archers were thrust aside by the orcish foot soldiers who had waited behind their screen. They were large brutes who were heavily armoured and bore sable shields that were embossed with hideous faces. They also carried curved scimitars and long spears with jagged edged tips. They yelled defiantly and set their shields before them, creating a swift wall of defence that barred the deadly flight of the elvish spears which now clattered against their protection to fall harmlessly to the grass. Even so, the elvish spears were spent and Ravenne put her horn to her lips and sounded the final charge. Swords were drawn, the light of which was like a field of reeds glittering with a cold silver sheen. Then the warrior women leapt after her at a swift run, driving up the ridge to meet the orc army in a great clash of ringing steel. So began in earnest, the first battle of the _Ohtatyeronissi_ in Middle-earth, and it was a grim meeting.

The orcs withstood the jarring force of the elvish press and a brutal hand to hand combat ensued. At its beginning, neither side gained the upper hand, for though the valour of the womenfolk of Fëanor was very great, they were still outnumbered by the orcs who fought fiercely in defence. Indeed, things soon went ill for the warrior women as the orc-lines surpassed by far, the stretch of the elves outermost phalanx. This left a great portion of orcs unfought and these surged forward to box in and attack the elves right flank. With them came what remained of the wolvish vanguard, and these now attacked with savage ferocity as they sought to avenge their defeat.

But at the forefront of battle fought Ravenne, Sailanambar's daughter, and the fervour of her attack could not be stayed. Those who fought beside her seemed to feed off her prowess so that they drove on as a deadly company, deep into the enemy lines and no orc could withstand them.  
Report of their valiant effort was relayed to the orc captain who stood with the rear guard and he was filled with wrath. With a great shout he called to him his shock troops that had been withheld, deeming that he did not need them as he thought his army went to a massacre and not to a full blown battle.

Yet now he saw that the tide was slowly turning against his favour and his forces were in need of aid. Therefore he loosed upon the elves a foe that none of the Noldor had yet seen. They came forward now, roaring like great beasts; standing broad and tall with huge strong limbs that were covered by a grey horny hide. Their faces were bestial and hideous and contorted in rage. They bore large bucklers and wielded heavy clubs and huge iron hammers. Thus it was that the trolls of Angband were first released upon the Noldor, for none were in the fighting eastward.

Now the orc captain raised a black horn that was graven with blood red runes of dark magic. He put it to his foul lips and blew a blast that shook the surrounding airs with a deep and guttural call, like the cry of some behemoth that lived far beneath the earth and now rose in wrath from the abyss. In that hideous cry was an evil power that filled foes with dread, yet enheartened allies. The warrior women all wavered upon hearing that terrible warcry, yet the orcs rallied and its deep voice goaded the trolls to a madness of purpose. On the beasts came, beating aside the orcs that stood in their way with their clubs and hammers as they maimed and killed their own folk in their frenzy to find their foes.

Ravenne and those who fought beside her wavered and lowered their weapons, and the heavy tread of the approaching trolls filled them with dread. Then they stayed their fervent attack in fearful anticipation and the orcs surged away, clearing a wide space about them as the trolls burst into the ring. The elves regarded the fell beasts with trembling gasps and wide terrified eyes as the trolls roared and bellowed their dire challenge. All about the wide ring were orcs who waved their weapons in the air, snarling and yelling in foul tongues that urged their champions to smite the insolent elvish company that had cut a deadly path deep into their lines. Ravenne and her companions suddenly realized with alarm that they were now cut off from the main host, and completely surrounded by a dark waving field of hate. Their bravery and valour had betrayed and entrapped them without hope, leaving them encircled by a multitude of enemies and faced with a new breed of fell beast by whose sheer size alone seemed an insurmountable foe.

Ravenne lowered her sword and shield and bowed her head as flickering lines of glistening rain cascaded from her helm. Her resilient will had been cowed at last; her bold defiance was worn away; hope had finally abandoned her. She raised her head wearily and turned to the others who glanced fearfully about them as they drew closer together with small unsteady steps. She turned her gaze eastward, wondering how Fëanor and his sons fared in battle. Perhaps they too were defeated, and even now lay dead upon the field with the enemy standing triumphant over their lifeless bodies. She then looked to the west, and thought of Aman that stood yonder. The words of Mandos to them in Araman now came to her thoughts.

_"For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death's shadow!"  
TAKEN FROM THE SILMARILLION; CHAPTER 9 "OF THE FLIGHT OF THE NOLDOR"  
_A bitter grin came upon Ravenne's face. 'So the Curse that was prophesied by Mandos now comes to pass for us,' she thought to herself and sighed.  
"Thus ended the valour of the _Ohtatyeronissi_," she said softly. "A bright spark that was lit in soft hearts, yet foundered in the dark to be extinguished by sorrowful death."

But even as she spoke, her thoughts went to Fëanor's reply.  
_"We shall not suffer from cowardice, from cravens or the fear of cravens. Therefore I say that we will go on and the deeds that we shall do shall be a matter of song until the last days of Arda."  
TAKEN FROM THE SILMARILLION; CHAPTER 9 "OF THE FLIGHT OF THE NOLDOR"  
_"We shall not suffer from cowardice or from cravens or the fear of cravens," she repeated, and turned to see the trolls were now advancing; their heavy steps echoing in her ears.

Yet Fëanor's defiant answer to the Valar's ominous prophecy now rekindled a resilience in her spirit. They would not suffer from cowardice, nor from fear of the servants of Morgoth. She had wavered and almost fallen to despair, but no more. Despair was for those who had no hope but she and her warriors yet lived, and as long as they drew breath there was hope; hope in glory, even in defeat. The deeds of the _Ohtatyeronissi_ in battle would be dearly bought, paid for with their lives, yet would be well bought and indeed fit to live in uplifting song forever. She would not forget that.

With those rallying thoughts she drew her own horn to her lips and let loose a mighty blast in defiance of the threatening cry of the orc horn. To her wonder she was answered from afar by many horns blowing in the distance, whose cries came to her as joyous music borne upon a warm comforting breeze. The orcs were silenced and lowered their weapons, and the trolls halted their advance. The surrounded elves all turned to their leader who stood listening. A smile formed upon Ravenne's face with slow realization. It was plain their reinforcements had finally arrived.

"Suffer not from fear my brave warriors," Ravenne cried. "Be it the orc, the wolf or the great beasts of Angband, all shall taste our wrath! If death and the halls of Mandos are all we are to reap this day, let us in turn send as many of these foul creatures that our valour allows to the abyss that awaits them! Glory is ours to attain my womenfolk! Let us achieve it here and now!"

She raised again her sword. "Fell deeds call! Death and glory await! Forth my _Ohtatyeronissi!_"

Again the warrior women took heart and sprang forward after Ravenne to boldly assail the trolls. The monsters bellowed their rage as they essayed to smite the warrior women and all their impudence of courage, but the elves were too swift for their giant limbs. Ravenne led the attack; darting under her enemy; now springing to the side; now suddenly leaping into the air, performing a graceful dance of death. She swung her sword with swift hefty strokes and her flaming blade hewed at the scaly grey hide and it gave way, gushing forth a smoking black blood. The troll suddenly gave a mighty roar and fell to the ground, dead.

A cold fear seized the orcs upon witnessing the fall of that which they had deemed to be unassailable, but the warrior women cried aloud and swept into the troll lines as flashes of silver in the dark; now here, now there; leaping, thrusting and hewing to deadly effect. More trolls were falling. Nevertheless there were many warrior women who were caught by stray blows and beaten down with stricken helms and dinted shields. Those that fell were thereafter crushed underfoot; so great was the rage of the trolls to stamp out their impudence. Yet the monsters could not stay the valour of the elven women who continued to slay them with lightning strokes. Report came again to the ears of the orc captain of the imminent defeat of his champions and after a disbelieving silence, he gathered his bodyguard about him and thrust forward towards the fray.

Elsewhere the battle had raged on, yet grew more desperate for the warrior women. The elvish left flank had fared better, for they held the orcs at bay but had gained no ground themselves. The fighting at the centre was very fierce, for the _Ohtatyeronissi_ there were beaten back and separated from Ravenne and her company. Now they sought to cut their way back through the orcish ranks in a desperate effort to come to the aid of their leader. But the orcs vigorously defended their advantage, deeming that the death of the trapped elvish leader would render their enemies in disarray, and the battle would become a rout. The fight however went ill for the right flank as the elvish phalanx fought upon three fronts, boxed in to the front, to the right and to the rear by their enemy's numerical advantage.

Also, the wolves were used to terrible effect, leaping forth and lashing out swiftly with their great claws, yet cunningly bounding away when the elves would rally against them. But even in their hour of despair, horns sounded in the east and the elven women lift up their voices with cries of joy as reinforcements that were the remaining houses of the women of the Feanorrim came to their aid. The houses of Caranthir and Amrod came first and fell upon the orcs that had assailed the rear of the right phalanx who were the women of the house of Curufin. Here the orcs wavered and were overcome but the orcish numbers were still greater and more swirled around to assail the new forces right flank. Others gathered to hinder the approaching houses of Maglor, Maedhros and Fëanor. So battle was fully joined at last and for a while, victory for either side hung upon a knife edge.

To the forefront however, Ravenne and her company now stood upon the carcasses of their felled enemies, looking down at the cowering orcs who stared up at them with disbelieving eyes. Their self belief; their prowess and fate had seen them through a grim fight and now all the trolls lay dead. But the orc captain came through his lines with his bodyguard and halted a moment as his gaze fell upon his dead champions. He then raised his bloodshot eyes to the elves with deadly hatred, and slowly drew his weapon, a great battle axe, and beckoned to his enemy to come for him. Ravenne nodded and leapt down to the ground, accepting the challenge. They stood apart, facing one another, each weighing the perceived strengths and weaknesses of the other.

The orc captain was not tall but very broad with long powerful arms and thickset legs. He was sable armoured and wore a caged mask of gruesome design. Besides his axe he also carried a sheathed sword and curved daggers in his belt. His bodyguard were armed like him and these gathered behind their captain, growling and snarling menacingly. The women of Ravenne's company now leapt to their leaders back, ready for this new challenge but Ravenne held up a hand. The orc captain wanted single combat with his elvish counterpart. He would get it.

They both came forward in a slow approach, stalking the other's movements like hunting cats. Suddenly the orc captain rushed forward and attacked savagely as Ravenne fought back to fend off his ire. Their blows were swift and hard but the captain seemed at an advantage, for he had the heavier weapon and yet handled it with great skill. He was also surprisingly agile for his build and far more adept in combat than any that Ravenne had so far faced. On they fought, wielding blow after blow and fending off attack after attack. But Ravenne was wearied from battle whereas the captain was still fresh upon the field.

She parried an axe blow and drove through with her sword but the captain leapt aside, pivoted and swung. A lightning twist of her torso saved Ravenne from certain death but the axe blade was too close, and sheared through surcoat and mail at the waist and she fell back with a cry, clutching a gruesome wound. Her horn that was fastened to her belt was caught by the blow and lay shattered in pieces upon the wet grass.

The orc captain lift up his head and gave a horrible gurgling yell of triumph and his bodyguard and the surrounding orcs raised their weapons, whooping and howling their glee. Ravenne's companions leapt to their fallen leader but a swift upheld hand stayed them. She rose slowly now with eyes blazing with a cold fire and it seemed to her warriors that she became the figure in the vision they had all beheld. Their fell champion stood again before their eyes; tall and menacing within a mantle of swirling shadow; seemingly invulnerable to wounds and impervious to dismay. So it seemed to the orcs also, for all fell silent, their yells dying upon their lips as they stared with growing terror at the fell being with the terrible bright eyes that now stood before them.

The orc captain had been advancing, seeking to finish his wounded adversary but now he halted in his tracks, aghast in his sudden fear. For a moment, the captain crouched; his body quivering as though it trembled. Then with a hideous cry of fear and rage, he launched himself forward with his axe raised in desperate courage. But Ravenne sprang forth to meet her foe and quick as lightning she sheared in two the shaft of his raised weapon and even as the captain stumbled by, she switched her blade and stabbed behind. The blade pierced him through the small of his back and did not stop until it emerged from his chest.

The orc captain stood erect for a moment with a blank stare but Ravenne wrenched free her weapon and with a swift stroke, beheaded her foe, whose body fell heavily to the grass. The unbelieving silence that followed was broken by the captain's bodyguard who were enraged beyond fear and erupted in a flurry of swords and loud cries towards the elven leader. But Ravenne's maidens swept to her defence and shattered the bodyguards onset in their wrath. Yet even as they leapt forward to protect their valiant mistress, a murmur rose all about them that grew to a clamour of many orc voices crying dread tidings.

"More horns sound to the east! The cavalry of the enemy bears down upon us!"

Then fear and dismay seized the orcs. Their champions were destroyed and their captain lay dead, rendering them leaderless with more of their enemies bearing down upon them. Swiftly their lines wavered, broke and fled. The orcs sudden surge away from battle surprised the warrior women at first as many did not hear the horns of the coming aid. Yet seeing the orcs flee all but enheartened them and they leapt forward and gave chase, hewing their foes down in the rout.

Now the cavalry came racing across the grey plains of Mithrim and at their head rode Maglor with the knights of his household. Swiftly they saw the fleeing enemy and doubled their pace to cut off their escape.  
At the forefront of the rout were the wolves and a few remaining wolf-riders, howling in fear as they fled. But the horses of the Noldor were born and bred in the land of the Valar, and had been nourished by lands of great potency that gave their sinews a strength far beyond that of the beasts of Angband. They swept towards the wolves like a flowing tide and swiftly overtook them.

There, Maglor and his riders enveloped the fleeing enemy and struck them down with flashing swords and crushed them under pounding hooves, destroying them all. Then the cavalry lines reformed; turned to face the oncoming orcs and with a loud horn-blast, charged back towards them. The orcs were filled with a madness of fear for they were caught in the very trap they had hoped to ensnare their enemies with; between hammer and anvil. Behind came the _Ohtatyeronissi_ with fell swords and flaming eyes and before them came the pounding rumour of the elvish cavalry.

Suddenly a deep horn was sounded that shook the airs with its call of doom. Its echoes grew louder and deeper and all the orcs trembled at the dint of it. Some cast themselves upon their faces and covered their ears with their claws. Indeed the orcs were greatly dismayed for all knew that it were the winding of their captain's horn that had the power to fill their enemies with fear. But now that fear was turned against them, blown no doubt by some bold elf. The orcs cowered in terror of the _Ohtatyeronissi_ and in terror of the cavalry that bore down upon them. Their host swayed this way and that, turning from fear to fear with the horn call of their doom resounding in their hearts.

On came the warrior women with raised spears and sweeping swords, blowing many horns in joyous answer to the fell horn call of the orcs. Louder sounded the thunderous hooves of the cavalry, sweeping forth like the winds of a gale that heralded death for all who would be caught in the wreck of its ruin. The orcs reeled and screamed, casting aside all their weapons. In a final madness of terror they streamed down to the lake and wailing in utter despair, flung themselves into its waiting waters.

For Ravenne, much passed like a swift dream as she stood victorious over her fallen enemy. She was vaguely aware of her warriors flying past as they sought to defend her from the wrath of the orc captain's bodyguard. Faint to her ears came the winding of distant horns and the shadowy shapes about her began to surge away. She swayed a little where she stood and clutched at her wound from which came a throbbing pain. Suddenly she was knocked down and fell to her knees, fighting an overwhelming dizziness that threatened to turn all to darkness. The shock of her wound and the weariness of battle now took its toll and she almost swooned. Yet her iron will held firm and she did not fall to the ground in a faint but forced herself to look up, and saw moving shadows all about her that were dim figures rushing by. Her eyes came to rest upon the headless body and beside it lay a great sable horn. She was reminded of her own that lay shattered in many pieces upon the ground.

"He destroyed mine so I shall take his," she thought and leaned forward to swipe the horn from the grass.

She gazed at its hideous design and flinched in disgust, raising her hand as if to fling it away. Yet she paused and looked at it again. Suddenly Ravenne felt firm hands grasp her shoulders and found that she was surrounded by her comrades who knelt beside her with concern on their faces as they pried her bloodied hand off her wound in a bid to assess her hurt. She instinctively pulled her hand away and replaced it over the terrible gash.

"Let me be," she said.

"But you are hurt Lady Vanyamórë," said one in answer. "Let us aid you for the wound is deep."

Ravenne shook her head. "It is deep but far from mortal. Rather see it as the enemy's fitting gift to me upon our first meeting. I shall cherish the mark it leaves once it has healed."

A look of dismay passed over her companions faces but Ravenne laughed. "Come, help me to my feet. What is this great commotion that surrounds me. I was knocked to the ground by shadows, or so it seemed as I stood dazed. But the swoon has passed and I am myself again. Tell me Alcániel, what has happened?"

They gently raised her to her feet and she looked about in utter surprise. She was surrounded by all the surviving company that had fought at her side yet beyond them were other elvish warriors, flying past them as they swept westward. The orcs had vanished!

"The enemy is routed as aid finally came to us in the form of our cavalry," said Alcániel. "My Lady, we have our victory!" she added with a smile.

Ravenne turned to look westward, and now the cries of her warriors and the distant blaring of the horns of the cavalry came to her ears. Fainter still came the screams of the orcs.

"Victory!" she whispered and a wind blew in from the west and suddenly, the rain ceased and the clouds broke.

Silver orbs twinkled through torn floating wisps as their radiance outlined the grasses and nearby waters with a shimmering pale hue that sparkled playfully as though the light of the stars were rejoicing. The storm of the world and of war had passed and calm was returned. Yet the quiet was suddenly shattered by a deep call, for Ravenne took up the horn of her foe and blew a blast after her enemies. The winds changed and carried its echoes of dread westward, engulfing the orcs like a mounting tidal wave of dark fear that filled them with madness.

So it was that the _Ohtatyeronissi_ finally met with Maglor and his riders upon the northern shore of Lake Mithrim, and all turned to stare at its frothing waters. Dark forms were flailing in the waves and the airs were filled with gurgling cries. But swiftly the orcish commotion lessened and the noise of their cries died down as more disappeared beneath the water's surface and did not rise again. Soon the flailing upon the grey surface was stilled and the elves no longer heard the fearful wails. The enemy was swallowed up and Lake Mithrim subsided to sparkle under the renewed starlight.

All was quiet save the gentle whistle of a westerly breeze. Maglor alighted from his horse and removed his helm. Those women that stood nearby immediately bowed low in recognition, but he grasped one who was nearest him and stopped her act of obeisance.

"Nay valiant one!" he said to her. "In this instance you will dispense with the show of honour. It is not for you to take the bow."

Then all the horsemen alighted from their steeds and came forward to stand beside their lord.  
"Men of the Fëanorrim," Maglor cried. "Give honour to the worthy women of the Noldor!"

They all removed their helms and bowed low to the warrior women. Yet even as they stood with lowered heads, a shout went up.

"Behold our leader! The Lady of the _Ohtatyeronissi_ comes. Let _all_ here show her honour!"

With that, all the women joined the men in bowing low as Ravenne came up, limping gently as she was aided by Alcániel and surrounded by her company. She came to stand before Maglor's bowed form and he rose to look upon her with a warm smile.

"Muinë osellë," he said, taking her hand. "I am at a loss for words. What you have done here in the service of our people is..." He could say no more but Ravenne smiled.

"What _we women_ have done," she corrected. "Yet do not be surprised Ortorno, for we only asked of ourselves that which every man who fights, pledges in his heart. We asked for the courage and conviction to put ourselves in gravest peril as a matter of duty to protect our people. That was our belief and it has proven well indeed. For that I am glad."

Maglor smiled but then noticed her bloodied hand that was held at her side. Distress clouded his fair features. "But you are wounded Ravenne," he said, coming close and putting his hand over hers.

"Let me alone," she said, shrugging away. "I am fine."

Maglor slowly shook his head. "Ravenne," he implored.

She waved aside his concern. "I take it the battle has gone well with you men."

The prince looked at her a moment and sighed. "Yes it has," he said. "The enemy has been overcome and is even now being pursued to the mountains."

She turned to look upon her army. They had done deeds of surpassing valour and had won the day. Yet there was more to it for a boldness and courage was awakened in these women that would hold them in good stead in the hard times to come. For there would be hard times, that was plain. True, this was a victory, yet also a warning to the Noldor that the fight would not be easy. The Fëanorrim would need to shore up all their strength if they ever hoped to defeat Morgoth, for this was but the first test of many. But Ravenne let her pride swell. Now was not the time for grim thought. She would enjoy the moment. She unsheathed her sword and raised it high above her head.

"Victory!" she cried as loud as her lungs would allow.

All the women and men raised their weapons and answered her with a deafening roar, "Victory is ours!"

They began to make their way back to the camp. Ravenne was placed upon Maglor's horse and he walked beside her, surrounded by his riders and Ravenne's company. Behind them followed the rest of the Ohtatyeronissi. Here and there they passed the bodies of orcs that were slain in the rout but soon they came upon the battlefield and halted, all stricken by the grievous sight. There lay most of the bodies of their elven women and these were many. Some of the warrior women went forward, weeping softly as they fell to their knees beside those dead that they knew, cradling their lifeless bodies in their arms. Ravenne bowed her head in grief. No matter how justified she may have been, she still blamed herself for these deaths. She felt a firm hand placed upon her knee.

"It is hard I know," said Maglor sorrowfully. "Yet this is the way of war. To participate is to risk one's life but I do not doubt that each valiant lady here knew and made peace with that. Do not blame yourself Ravenne. They fought and died well."

Ravenne did not answer, yet a pale smile passed over her face for a brief moment and was gone. She then turned to Alcaniel who walked beside her.

"Let the greater part of the _Ohtatyeronissi_ remain here to watch over the valiant fallen. The rest shall continue on to the camp and so return with wains with which to bear our dead." Alcaniel bowed and with a few others of the company, went forth giving her lady's command to the rest of the warrior women. Then Ravenne made as if to alight from Maglor's horse but he held her in place.

"Oselle!" he cried. "What are you doing?"

"Do not hinder me!" she answered with flashing eyes. "My place is with my warriors Ortorno, be they dead or alive."

"And what of your wound," Maglor replied. "It is crudely dressed and yet needs to be tended with care for I deem it is deep and perilous. For there is more to the weapons of the enemy than that of being mere iron and steel, Ravenne. Those with eyes to see can tell that the enemy's blades are woven with dark spells and smeared with foul poisons that might do evil even when their wielders are vanquished. Come, it will do you no good to remain here, and neither will it be to the betterment of your warriors were they to lose their victorious leader through some evil sickness that might come of this wound were it not properly tended."

Ravenne gave Maglor a dark look but knew he was right. She gave him a curt nod and they began forward again, with only the remainder of her company and Maglor's knights. Alcaniel remained to oversee and aid in the gathering of their dead along with the rest of the _Ohtatyeronissi_. The fallen were placed side by side with arms folded upon their breasts, and cloaks were laid over them while they slept.

Soon Ravenne and Maglor came to those fallen women who were slain by the first onset of the wolves. They were few and Ravenne bid their bodies be laid upon the horses and carried. They were nearing the camp when they saw a large group of riders galloping towards them.

Maglor turned to Ravenne and she nodded. "Help me down," she said.

She eased into his waiting arms and slid from the saddle, wincing a little from the pain of her ghastly wound. The women gathered closely about her; uncertainty and a little fear could be seen in their eyes. The riders swiftly approached, sitting tall and imposing in their saddles, with tall helms and mail coats flashing in the starlight. They reined in and alighted from their horses, and their leader gave his reins to the tallest among them and came forward to stand before the women. His keen starry eyes surveyed them at random, until they paused and narrowed when he saw the slain lying across the backs of the horses. He then removed his helm to a cascading flurry of dark hair and looked up. The expression on his pale face was stern, and his piercing eyes sought Ravenne with a hard glint.

"What report do you have for me Canafinwe?" he asked as he continued to stare relentlessly at her.

"My lord," replied Maglor. "Our womenfolk have done deeds of surpassing valour and return victorious from battle. The enemy to our rear has been utterly destroyed: a deed that was only achieved by their great courage and deadly prowess."

"And by whose authority was the command given to rally our womenfolk together and commit them to battle?" asked the leader with his fiery eyes still fixed upon Ravenne, who cast her quenched glance aside.

"It was I my lord," she said in a soft voice.

"It was you," echoed the leader. "So you defied my order that our women should not fight."

"Grant me the permission to speak freely my lord," said Ravenne. Fëanor gave a curt nod.

"It was before the walls of Alqualondë that you forbid the women to fight and I hearkened to your command. Yet you agreed that we should nevertheless receive training in the arts of warfare, so as to have the skill to defend ourselves at need. And that has proven well, for even as you fought the orcs while we women stood behind in obedience to your command, the enemy came from the west, hoping to assail our people upon two fronts. With all our men fighting eastward we had no choice but to defend ourselves and our children."

Now she raised her head to look directly into the eyes of the king. "Yet if you deem that we have done ill my lord, then I take full blame for our actions since it were I who roused our womenfolk to war."

"Indeed you shall take full blame, daughter of Sailanambar," said Fëanor. "For by your deeds have you disrupted the customs of elves, setting our womenfolk to do strange deeds. Yet long have I known your true mind and purpose!"

Ravenne's eyes widened with vulnerable surprise.

"Ever have you sought to appear as a lord among elves and less a lady, purposely subduing your natural womanly instincts for some unknown end. It has been to me both troubling and intriguing to have so fair a lady think so little of the womanhood that is your due. Yet Sailanambar never begrudged the gift of a daughter into his household, so I have wondered much as to why you behave as you do. But now you have encouraged your strange ways into the hearts of all our womenfolk, and expect me to condone what you have done."

Ravenne gazed at Fëanor with a rising fear that the shrewd king had discerned her innermost secrets and would blatantly reveal them to her shame. Her eyes wavered as he spoke, glistening with the slow welling of emotion long held in check by a festering bitterness. But Fëanor's returned stare hardened.

"The truth is that you leapt at the chance to fight, neither waiting for my counsel or blessing in your endeavour. Swiftly you were off ere any news of that latest threat was revealed to me or any of our captains. And so you were followed heedlessly by our women who were besotted by your rousing words. All this so as to fulfil your obscure dream of becoming a warrior, fighting gallantly with sword and shield, sweeping away the enemy through deeds of legendary prowess. But know this Ravenne. Dreams may turn into nightmares, and you could have found yourself and all those who went with you in evil plight, to the ruin of all. Did you ever think of that?"

Ravenne trembled as Fëanor's grim voice relentlessly bore into the truths of her conduct. Her wide eyes lowered sullenly and she bowed her head, standing dejected before her lord.

"And if that had happened what would the soldiery of Fëanaro be returning to?" Fëanor continued. "The cries of babes whose mothers had all gone to the grave and would no longer be there to care for their young. Mothers who would no longer tend to their households. Maidens who would no longer grace our sights with their beauty, and delight us with the music of their voices. Maidens who would never love and conceive children who would grow to be the next generation of the Fëanorrim, replenishing the numbers of those lost in the long conflict against the enemy. The very backbone of our people would have been destroyed, the grief of which is not to be imagined for the men who would endure the bitterness, the pain and the loss."

Ravenne stared at the ground, her eyes blinded by the tears she fought back with diminishing success. She wanted to raise her head and proudly defend herself, but she could not. Part of her knew Fëanor was right. She had been selfish, playing a game with peril by jeopardizing her people in her schemes. Her thoughts went back to the battle and conjured the many dead women strewn upon the field. The guilt came yet again, intensifying to despair. She clutched at her wound, the pain of which filled all her senses with a piercing ache. She began to sway where she stood, feeling weak and faint.

"I cannot ignore what you have done," Fëanor resumed. "Therefore kneel before me and receive my swift judgement!"

Then Maglor stepped forward. "Father I must protest!" he cried imploringly, but Fëanor raised a hand to silence him.

The women there all drew closer to their lady, fearfully hesitant as to whether they should put themselves before their captain and beg for mercy in a desperate bid to spare Ravenne the undeserved wrath of their Lord, or to look on with helpless obedience to their king and his stern decree. They stood clutching at each other in their distress. They all could not believe the treatment their captain now received from their king. How could Fëanor wither Ravenne in such a manner after the great deeds she had done for him.

The tallest of the warriors who stood there now came forward and bowed his head to Fëanor's ear. "Father, I do not think this is wise," he said in a low voice. "Whatever the circumstances of her actions, Ravenne has nevertheless returned with victory. Is what she has done so evil as to negate her valiant win over the enemy?"

"I did not ask for your counsel Nelyafinwë," said Fëanor with a swift wave of dismissal.

Maedhros stepped back, shaking his head. "She is our sister," he muttered under his breath, but his father heard him.

"I know what she is," he returned. "In more ways than you perceive!" He turned again to Ravenne's forlorn figure. "On your knees," he said, pointing to the ground.

Ravenne complied, slowly bending her legs to lower herself to the wet grass. Suddenly, Fëanor unsheathed his great sword which rang with cold purpose as the blade cleared the jewel encrusted scabbard, and shone piercingly in the starlight. The women gasped in horror and Maedhros took a quick step forward, but Maglor placed himself before Ravenne's kneeling form with both arms raised.

"Nay father, what madness is this?" he cried. "Say what you will but _this_ cannot be! Where in all that is fair and honourable is it said that valour unlooked for should receive death as thanks? How can you desecrate Ravenne's deeds that have served only to aid our cause against Morgoth."

"Be silent!" said Fëanor with a flash of his sharp eyes. "I am king of the Noldor and shall judge my subjects as I please. Do not presume that because you are my son you are exempt from my wrath. Hinder me not Canafinwë!"

An incredulous look animated Maglor's face as he gazed at his father, but he slowly stepped aside and stood with bowed head in a posture of absolute defeat.

"I cannot believe it," he muttered, but Fëanor stepped towards the kneeling lady. The gentle sobbing and weeping of the warrior women could be heard in the background. They were all on their knees like their leader.

But Fëanor slowly raised his sword, ignoring them all. "For disobeying the express will of her lord, I Fëanaro son of Finwe, and High King of the Noldor hereby sentence to death Vanyamórë Ravenne, daughter of Sailanambar of Tirion!"

The sword came down to the anguished cries of the women and gasps of the knights. Maedhros and Maglor turned their faces aside and closed their eyes, both muttering an impotent prayer.  
"May the Valar forgive us!"

Ravenne was beyond caring and had also closed her eyes, seeking the darkness of a mounting swoon that threatened to overwhelm her senses. She felt the blade upon her left shoulder and then her right. There was no pain; no agonizing release into the realm of spirits. She opened her eyes and willed herself to look up. She stared for a moment, confused at what she saw. Feanor looked down at her with a gentle smile upon his face. The flat of his blade was still rested upon her shoulder, and he raised it as he offered her his hand.

"Arise brave maiden," he said in a gentle tone. "You are hereby reborn and shall henceforth be known to all the Noldor as Fëanariel, Lady of the _Ohtatyeronissi_."

Ravenne hesitated a moment before she gave Fëanor her trembling hand, and he aided her to her feet. The women were still on their knees, embracing one another with gasps and tears of joy. Maglor turned to his brother and gave a long sigh of relief as Maedhros nodded to him in return. But Ravenne gazed into Feanor's eyes, confused and overwhelmed.

"My lord?" she whispered.

Feanor turned to his knights and those around him. "Let all here bear witness to the knighthood I have bestowed. Lady Fëanariel has proven herself far beyond the call of duty, setting herself at odds with all that was expected of her so as to rise to the challenge I set for our people. How could I not understand that! I who defied the Valar so as to set right the wrongs of the enemy." He looked again at Ravenne and caressed her cheek.

"Dearest daughter," he said. "No greater love could I feel for you as I do now, not even were you from the womb of Nerdanel herself. Henceforth you shall in _all_ things be treated by our people as one of the Royal House of Finwë. You shall take your place beside the honoured Lords of the Fëanorrim as a Lady with a seat at Council. The _Ohtatyeronissi_ shall hereafter become a company of bold women of your choosing, to serve under your command and abide by the rules you set for them. This is my decree. Let all hear my word. The king has spoken!"

So it was that the _Ohtatyeronissi_ were born in earnest to the people of the Noldor and in the times that came thereafter, they did deeds of great renown and were respected and honoured by all.

* * *

Author's Commentary:

This is a controversial chapter. Not only because it diverges completely from the former narrative and may irritate the reader because of this jolting nature of the main story, but because of the _Warrior Women_ element.  
Well, it's said by Tolkien that elven women were the same as men in all aspects of body and mind and that they fought valiantly in the defence of their realms. What he didn't say was that they had offensive duties in war. They were not encouraged to do this since the elves thought the professional art of killing messed up their natural instincts to heal and give birth. So they would only become warriors when their towns and cities were attacked.  
This is all well and good but it doesn't set in stone the fact that there couldn't have been some anomalies. The Feanorrim were the harshest of the Noldor and more prone to questionable acts. If there were ever a group of grim warrior elven women, it would make sense to have them come from this branch of Finwe's people.

Another problem that may arise for the reader is the whole Mary Sue issue with the Ravenne character, that might be seen to dilute the story as a whole. I can't say much about that other than I really don't see any other way of writing about her. She's inspired by strong female characters in Tolkien's world like Aredhel, Galadriel and Eowyn, and isn't my personal fantasy to insert a dream character into the canon. As a love interest for Celegorm, I've tried to make up the kind of woman that I think would have suited my interpretation of his character.

I know I'm writing of the fall of Doriath but the story has many important characters of whom I want to shed a bit of light on their relationships with other players in the piece. After all, the story doesn't just contain Dior, Nimloth and the sons of Feanor. The major players have friends, comrades, servants and even partners. I know there's no mention of Celegorm ever having a wife or lover, yet there wasn't any mention of Aegnor having a woman he loved either, yet to our great surprise we find out about Andreth, _who's a mortal_ for that matter. The next two chapters shall make sense of their relationship in the original timeline, so please bear with me.

Finally, I must apologise for the length of this chapter. Yet I really wanted to create what I would see as a believable sense of how this bold woman roused her fellow sisters to fight in a desperate battle that would birth the Ohtatyeronissi. I didn't want a half-hearted approach that would garner more questions than answers. Again, I reiterate that the next two chapters shall make sense of my divergence from the main framework of the story.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter.  
Thanx!


	8. Estrangements

**THE FALL OF DORIATH**

**OHTATYERONISSI means the "Warrior Women"**

**Chapter Eight...  
"ESTRANGEMENTS"**

It was the eve of the Feanorrim's fateful march to war with Doriath and all was ready upon the hill of Amon Ereb. Celegorm looked up to the night sky and breathed in deeply of the cool fresh air. The velvet heavens seemed magnified to an immensity in their clearness, lit up with the dancing scintilla of a myriad of twinkling stars. For too long had the gloom of Autumn weather clouded its lofty beauty, yet tonight all was clear. It was a sign thought Celegorm. It was a good sign.

He turned to Maedhros whose shining eyes regarded him as he stood tall and dark in the half shadows of the camp.  
"What is it?" Celegorm asked, a little perturbed by his brother's stare.

"I remember how you used to look up at the stars by the shores of Eldamar when you were young. You had the same look now as you did then, filled with innocent wonder."

Celegorm gave him a faint smile. "My wonder is still the same though I doubt the innocence."

Maedhros nodded and sighed. "Much has passed since those easy days in Aman. Yet the stars have remained unchanged and are now even as they were then. They have witnessed the long changes of the ages in silence, but what a tale they could tell if they could commune to us their lofty thoughts."

Now it was Celegorm's turn to stare at his brother. "What is this wistful mood that has come over you Russandol?" he asked.

A faint smile hardly to be seen in the dark came to Maedhros' face. "It is nothing," he replied. "Just a fair memory from a distant past, that is all."

He came forward now into the fullness of the starlight, an imposing shadow that morphed into his pleasant personage. "Are all the preparations complete?" he asked, dismissing the soft moment between them with a blunt query of war.

"They are," replied Celegorm. "All companies are in and at the ready. They only await your command to march forth."

"Good," said Maedhros as his eyes surveyed the grey southerly slopes that densely housed the soldiery of Feanor's people.

Celegorm followed his brother's gaze. The host of the Feanorrim was now fully gathered and there was an almost palpable tension in the air. An anticipation of purpose that was the battle readiness of the troops, fuelled by their steely ambition to retrieve the Silmaril of Feanor. Again Celegorm breathed deeply of the cool night air and discerned what it was...the deep breath before the plunge...the final prayer before the grave deed...a last wave of farewell made before an epic journey. He turned to his brother who now stood as if he were listening for some elusive night call. Maedhros felt it too.

"Our father would have been proud of his sons and people were he still alive to witness this night," said Celegorm.

Maedhros turned to him and nodded slowly. Yet he did not speak but continued to gaze at Celegorm; his keen grey eyes attempting perhaps to read what lay in his younger brother's heart. Celegorm turned away, a little confused and disconcerted. As far as he knew, all his brothers were of the same mind and purpose in this. Yet Maedhros' strange melancholy began to irk him somewhat, for there seemed to be a distant guilt in his elder brother's stare that maybe sought a similar sentiment in Celegorm's heart. But they could not waver now! Indeed, they needed Maedhros all the more for he was the true bastion of strength for the brothers and the Feanorrim.

Maedhros appeared to perceive his brother's discomfort and broke the uncomfortable silence that lay between them.  
"Yes you are right Tyelcormo," he said softly. "Father would have been proud indeed to see us now." He put out a long arm and laid his good hand upon Celegorm's shoulder. "And we shall not disappoint him," he added with a faint smile.

Celegorm raised his eyes to his brother's and saw the melancholy in Maedhros' glance fade into a hardened starry glint whose expression was of commanding purpose. They stood a moment in that partial embrace and Celegorm's uncertainty was slowly quelled. His brother was still behind him with his full support. He felt a great relief for Maedhros was more than just a brother of equal responsibility in this matter. He was the head of the family and the father figure to all his people. Responsibilities and decisions were shared and debated amongst the princes, yet each always sought the final acceptance and blessing of Maedhros in all they did. For such was his nobility, dignity and understated majesty to them in their hearts. Even Finwe their grandfather had declared of old that had Maedhros been born beside the birth waters of Cuivienen, it would without a doubt have been he who were chosen to be king of the Noldor.

Great praise had that been from his grandsire, yet even Feanor his father had agreed with this sentiment. Curufin had easily been his favourite son, but in his heart of hearts it were Maedhros whom he respected the most. For Feanor discerned that the true inheritance of the strength, wisdom and power of the Noldor had passed to his firstborn son more keenly than any other child of that great people, and so appropriately named him the "Third Finwe" in honour of that sentiment. To him, Maedhros represented the true untarnished soul and ideal of the Noldorin people.  
The gentle moment between them made all the difference to Celegorm. He had incited his brothers to war with grand rhetoric and great theatre, yet it was his elder brother's final gentle assurance that set his resolve beyond all doubt.

There came the sound of an approach and the brothers turned to the soldier who came towards them.  
"Lord Nelyafinwe, your presence is required by your captains," he said after a curt salute.

Maedhros gave him a nod and turned to Celegorm. They looked at one another and a smile formed upon both their faces. As if words unspoken passed between them, they both nodded to each other and clasped hands. With that, Maedhros turned away and his tall imposing form receded into the shadows of the night. The messenger followed after him.

Celegorm watched after them a moment before turning towards the dark fortress walls. He made his way towards the gates and here and there, passed groups of warriors who sat by tents or stood around the yellow flames of their flickering fires. As he passed them by, they turned to salute him in the fashion of the Feanorrim. He paused by some and spoke with them as a captain querying his troops preparations, challenging their morale, their readiness and their resolve ere they went to war. Yet they did not disappoint him for all were resolute in their dire intent.

So Celegorm came to the broad road that rose from the plains below, winding its way up Amon Ereb to pass under the huge iron gates that barred entry to the fortress. A few shadowed figures walked upon its grey starlit track further down the hill, while up ahead it passed under the fortress gates.  
Celegorm approached the entrance where strong flamelight cast a golden sheen of splayed illumination upon the threshold. Guarding the gates were many soldiers who stood stern and silent before the sturdy walls of the many windowed towers that hemmed the gates upon either side. Celegorm nodded in reply to their swift salutes as the gates were hauled open for him to pass within.

Guardroom windows studded the tunnel's walls, behind which came the murmur of conversation between others of the fortress guard. He soon came to the main courtyard that opened up wide before him. Here were many lords and ladies of the Feanorrim, stood or milling about the lamp-lit arcades, discussing in soft tones the events about to take place. Some turned to him, either beckoning or calling for him to join their discourse, yet Celegorm did not think to linger there. He felt a weariness creep upon him and a sullen mood that did not desire company. He continued on his way, smiling politely with a swift wave of his hand so as to ward off any chance for conversation. The second tunnel that led to the inner courtyard of the fortress loomed before him and he passed under its archway, and on through to the other side.

Here a few elvish lords engaged in deep conversation stood near the memorial stone that cast its long oblong shadow over the grey grass of the courtyard. He made his way swiftly to the steps of hewn stone that led to the second level of the fortress, and speedily passed up the stairs only to come across Amrod taking in the air upon the landing.

"How goes it with you Ambarussa?" he asked his brother.  
The ensuing conversation spoke of the right to retire early in light of the long march ahead; the designated comforts of travelling princes and a parting shot that called for _"Little Finwe"_ to find his way to bed.

He then parted ways with Amrod, smiling warmly as he thought of the brief moment of light jest they had just shared. His spirits rose a little as he made his way to his private quarters. The corridors and walkways in this part of the fortress were devoid of any guards as all had been dismissed so as to spend time with their loved ones before the grim dawn broke.

Celegorm passed down a long dimly lit corridor that was balustraded with an open view that looked eastward to Ossiriand and the Ered Luin. Oaken doors studded the corridor's walled right side that opened to the living quarters of the princes. He made his way to the very end of the walkway as his was the last door. Upon reaching the threshold, he turned the latch and was about to enter when he paused, and looked back down the way he came. Only a single lamp was set at the midway point of the long walkway, but the radiance of its low flame failed at the opposite ends of the corridor which were shrouded in shadow. He could not be sure, but he thought he discerned a slight movement from within the darkness at the corridor's entrance. He stood a moment peering intently back the way he had come yet saw nothing. He abruptly turned away, entered his room and closed the door behind him.

His quarters was large and spacious. On the walls were hung beautifully crafted tapestries, many depicting elves on horseback engaged in the hunt. Taking up a wide space was a great canopied bed of ash wood. Its suspended frame was intricately crafted with carven woodland animals. Rich fur coverlets and quilts were spread wide and draped over the bed's sides whose legs were in the form of carven hoofs. An oaken table decorated with tiny traceries and peppered with carven ornamentation was set at the room's centre. Surrounding it were leather clad chairs of exquisite make. The floor was covered in the furs and hides of woodland deer, the boar and the wild kine. There was a wide hearth in a corner, over which was housed a low burning fire of scented pine.

Celegorm went over to the yawning window that gave sight westward, and opened a pane letting in the cool night breeze. Beneath him sprawled the western half of the lower tiers of the fortress that were made up of half hidden walkways, hovering balconies and winding stairways that were all lined in shadow, save where the yellow flame of torches splayed their light upon the grey stone. Now and again an armoured guard would fleetingly walk into view, whose peeping armour shone from under a heavy cloak, and whose spear tip glinted in the wavering light. Celegorm turned away from the high view, lit a tall candle and placed its stand upon the table. Its flame flickered and shone weakly, barely illuminating its immediate surroundings, but it was enough for Celegorm.

He thought now to sit in the near dark and brood when he heard a sound. It came to him soft and almost imperceptible from outside his door. He stood stock still with eyes fixed upon the doorway. It was plain someone had followed him to his room in stealth, yet who could it be and why. Perhaps it were Amrod, jesting with him again. There was no time for thought as the door latch began to turn a fraction. Celegorm noiselessly pulled out a chair and sat directly facing the doorway and calmly waited for the intruder to reveal itself. The latch began to move again ever so slightly, rotating until it was loose. There was a pause before the door soundlessly widened, revealing a tall hooded silhouette.

A tense silence hung for a moment between the two and Celegorm was in doubt, for this plainly was not Amrod.

"Who are you?"he asked in a low voice.

The figure did not answer but entered his room and closed the door behind without turning. Celegorm waited for the intruder to speak but no word was forthcoming.

"Enough of your silence," he said with rising wrath. "I say again, who are you and why do you come here?"

"You know who I am and I have come to talk," came the reply. The voice was lower than a woman's wont, but a woman's all the same.

Celegorm eased back into his seat. "Our acquaintance may be one of the oldest I have known but that does not give you a free pass to do as you please. How I wish my doorwardens were still at their duty this night. Let me alone I tell you! I have no need for talk at this time."

The hooded stranger did not move. "Nevertheless, I have come to talk whether you would or no."

"Give me peace Ravenne!" cried Celegorm.

"Peace?" came her retort. "That word is strange coming from you whom of late has had only thoughts of war. Peace! Nay do not jest my lord."

There passed a tense moment between them as Celegorm's wrath rose against Ravenne's defiance. Yet it was the prince who first withdrew and let out a long sigh.

"Ravenne," he said wearily. "What do you want?" As he said this, he motioned for her to take a seat. Ravenne complied and sat down, removing her hood to reveal her rich mane of dark hair and her starkly beautiful face. She sat in silence, eyeing Celegorm with her keen grey eyes. "Well?" the prince muttered impatiently. "What do you want of me?"

Her keen stare softened to an expression of solemnity. "I come not as the Lady of the Ohtatyeronissi, but as your friend of old."

"Friend!" exclaimed Celegorm with genuine surprise. "It is long since you behaved in such a manner. Whatever you want of me must be great indeed if you are seeking to rekindle our ancient friendship."

Her eyes hardened slightly. "Perhaps," she said with a sigh. "Indeed there are grievances that lie between us, yet I am here to set all aside and begin anew. Do you not want that Tyelcormo?"

Now it was Celegorm's turn to stare in silence, studying her flawless face searchingly with his glinting eyes. "And why do you come now Ravenne?" he asked at last. "It has been long since we last spoke to one another, though I will grant that we were apart for much of that time. However, it has been some time since your return, yet all the while you have avoided me. Perhaps you were ashamed of your past deeds and therefore could not find the heart to face me. I would understand that. But now here you are, barging into my private chamber, seeking to set aside our old differences. I ask again Ravenne. Why now?"

"Should that matter much?" she replied. "That I have come to you should be enough. It has not been easy, but I have spoken first and ended the deadlock that lies between us. Yet if it is any comfort to your pride then I will say this: I have come because I miss our friendship. I miss talking with you. I miss our hunting, our jesting, everything that we did together as old friends. I simply miss your company Tyelcormo?"

Celegorm looked at her with an expression devoid of feeling, cold and distant. "Very well," he answered. "And what do you want said between us? Should there be explanations or perhaps heartfelt apologies or even forgiveness. What Ravenne?"

Her gaze was steady, hardly flinching at his scorn. "I ask for all the above." she said softly.

Celegorm laughed bitterly. "You ask for much, lady of the Ohtatyeronissi. _Too much!_ I can never forgive you for the choice you made in Nargothrond. Many times have I conjured the events of that day in my mind. How you turned your face from me in that hour! With that single gesture you erased the lifetime of friendship that stood between us. I meant nothing to you!

Yet I have often wondered why you returned to us here upon Amon Ereb. Then again you were never one to well endure the harshness of the wilderness, though it has ever been your way to make it seem that you are of tougher stock, Lady Feanariel of the _"Warrior Women."_ But I know you well Ravenne... too well. Ever has your policy been to cling to the royal house of the Feanorrim, your lofty ambition being your chief goal. So you rose to a seat at council, gaining the high honour and prestige that came with the office. Yet what of your allegiance to the house that bestowed you your title? That mattered little to you as you repaid the Feanorrim's bestowed honour and trust with treason, and dismissed our age long friendship with the wanton toss of your head!

And so the kingdom of Nargothrond came to its end, but rather than braving the wilds of Beleriand in a life of deserved wandering, you shamelessly returned to the people you had readily abandoned.  
I remember how you bowed low to Maitimo, pleading for his mercy and forgiveness. I would have laughed at your theatre had it not been so tragic! Yet you received the pardon you craved through Maitimo's well known good graces and here you are, honoured once again by the Feanorrim as if nothing happened. But know this daughter of Sailanambar. Everyone else may choose to forgive and forget the past, but not I! Your charm will not work on me whom you fooled the most. I perceive your real character at last and all your snide policies are now laid bare to me. I deem you realised this and that is why you could not face me, until now. But nothing has changed for me. I neither miss your friendship nor want it. That should be clear enough for you!"

Ravenne listened intently with grey eyes fixed upon Celegorm's as he castigated her, betraying nothing of her emotions. When he was done she remained where she sat, unmoving in the dim light. The yellow flame played upon her skin, beating a flickering pale shadow across her sharp features. Suddenly she turned away and rose from the table in a swift move, her darkly cloaked form blending easily with the surrounding gloom. Celegorm watched her with hard eyes that held a triumphant anger. His cold words had been aimed to hurt her, and he had succeeded to his great satisfaction.

His angry stare followed her to the great window where she leaned upon its sill, looking out from that high place. She then bowed her head and let out a long trembling sigh. Celegorm's smile was unpleasant, knowing his words had hit the mark. He leaned forward to pour himself some wine from the pitcher that sat at the centre of the table and took a long drink. He then placed his flagon down and turned to her bent form.

"Well what do you still want? We are done, do you hear?"

But Ravenne did not seem to hear him for her mind was far away from Amon Ereb, flying swiftly through the misty airs of memory in a bid to look back on all that had led to their present estrangement.

~oOo~

In the time after Feanor's commissioning of the Ohtatyeronissi, Ravenne had gathered all the women who were of a mind to join its company. These had to adhere to certain rules laid down by its stern leader. The Warrior Women could not be married or betrothed, though it were never said that one could not seek for love. Yet this was not encouraged, for to be part of the Ohtatyeronissi was to wilfully purge oneself of any distractions that might weaken one's pledge to the grim tasks of war. For the Warrior Women were to be treated as any warband in the army, ever training and patrolling and fighting at the front. There were few within the Feanorrim who questioned as to whether it were good that there should be elven women who constantly applied themselves to the arts of war, and more so when the other Noldorin houses finally came to Middle-earth, and voiced their concern when they learned the strange ways of their brethren. Indeed, no such companies were formed within the houses of Fingolfin and Finrod, and none of their women ever left their people to join with the Ohtatyeronissi. Yet when war arose in earnest in Beleriand, the deeds of the Warrior Women garnered great respect and honour by all the elves of the land.

After the Feanorrim removed from Hithlum to the lands in the east, Ravenne stationed the Ohtatyeronissi with Celegorm and Curufin by the Pass of Aglon. In all the long years of the siege, they ceaselessly patrolled the Ard Galen, fought in many affrays with the enemy and did deeds of surpassing valour in the Dagor Aglareb. In all that time, Ravenne and Celegorm maintained their close friendship, yet it remained so and nothing more, to her constant heartache. Ravenne's greatly enhanced standing and nobility among their people had done nothing to change Celegorm's stance towards her save that he treated her more formally than before, a thing that grieved her all the more.

Once in those long years did an old rival cross her path, for Aredhel, daughter of Fingolfin appeared in Aglon hoping to see Celegorm. Those two had been very close and had of old garnered many a whisper as to their relationship. Ravenne's heart lay in turmoil in the long year that Aredhel dwelt with them, yet fate had another path for Ar-Feiniel. Before Celegorm had returned from long hunting, she had set out on a journey that was instigated by Ravenne no less, who suggested to Aredhel the far trek to the lands beyond Himlad. Ravenne's heart had inwardly rejoiced at the subsequent turn of events as Celegorm and Aredhel were doomed never to meet with each other in Middle-earth again.

So the years drew to the end of the long siege and the peace that came with it. The Dagor Bragollach brought about a sudden end to the realm of Aglon and Himlad, and almost an end to the Ohtatyeronissi. For Ravenne and her warriors were fighting with the rear guard and were surrounded as they defended the walls of Aglon that barred the narrow valley from the enemy. It was Celegorm himself who came to their aid in that desperate hour with many riders at his back, and made a daring rescue that hardly had them flee with their lives. After long wandering they were finally harboured by their kin in Nargothrond.  
In that short time together, Celegorm's mood changed somewhat towards Ravenne, for he became closer to her than ever before. Perhaps it were the effect her near death in battle had upon him that made him realise much that had been left unsaid and unexplored between them. Whatever the case may be, for the first time since she could remember, Ravenne had felt the stirring of real joy within her heart. She could finally sense the happiness for which she had long yearned in her endless sadness.

However, all had ended before it truly began as that was the time Celegorm had returned to Nargothrond with Luthien the daughter of Thingol. With his intentions known to all, bitterness filled her heart once again, yet this time it were tinged with a hard frost. She became wan and silent, ever brooding on Celegorm's betrayal, and the wrongs done to her heart. When Luthien fled from Nargothrond, this did nothing to ease her pain, and her mood towards Celegorm became cold and distant, seeing that he would forever set her aside for whatever might tickle his wondering fancy, while she ever held herself in readiness for him in foolish hope. Therefore when the people of Nargothrond were finally released from Celegorm and Curufin's dominion and ordered their banishment, Ravenne in utter bitterness of heart turned her face from him as he looked to her expectantly, thinking his friends might follow him into exile. She had made up her mind to be rid of the prince and the heartache he brought to her once and for all.

The years in Nargothrond had afterwards passed long and slow for Ravenne. However, though her mind moved on to other things, the thought of Celegorm still overshadowed her heart's happiness. Yet she maintained the Ohtatyeronissi under her ladyship and under the overlordship of Celebrimbor who now led the Feanorrim of Nargothrond. Thus it stood until the time of Turin and the destruction of Felagund's realm. Ravenne and her Warrior Women escaped the rout of the Battle of Tumhalad and fled southward until they reached the willow woods of Nan-Tathren. There they were joined by many other survivors and all were thereafter succoured by the Sindarin elves who dwelt there, and whose lord was Estannen whom afterwards removed to Doriath with his numerous people.  
The Fell Winter came down heavily upon the elves in the wilderness but Estannen and his people gave great aid to the Noldor and saved the lives of many who would have perished of cold and grief. Yet the late spring finally came, to the welcome of all and the leaders of the refugees came together for common council.

They stood upon a tall hill that overlooked a wide valley where the Sirion flowed wide and swollen from the snows of the long winter. The greenery of the landscape were tinged here and there with the colourless grey pall of winter, that had yet to fade fully from the land. Hard by was the "Willow Vale" of Nan-Tathren, a wood made up of willow trees whose ranks began in the heights of the hills and marched down vast rolling slopes to the northern shoreline of the River Narog that fed into the Sirion at the wood's beginning. The willows were enormous and very ancient with twisted hoary barks, long slender branches and huge winding fibrous roots that spread wide across the woodland floor. Their leaves were tinged with hues of yellow and grey through which peeped flowers of orange and purple. Their was a buzzing of bees in the air.

The three leaders of the exiled elves were Failo who led elves of the house of Finrod. There also stood Celebrimbor who was lord of the Feanorrim of Nargothrond and there was the Lady Feanariel of the Ohtatyeronissi. These three represented a great part of the survivors of Nargothrond who now dwelt in the wild, ever fearful of pursuit by the usurpers of their realm. Now that the dreadful winter had passed, they sought for a more secure refuge for their peoples.

Failo stood looking northward with hands shielding his straining elven sight from the glare of the bright morning sun. The blue hills he looked to in the far distance were of the Andram, from which flowed a thin ribbon of river from under the mighty Gates of Sirion.

Celebrimbor followed his gaze. "What do you look for Failo?" he asked.

The Noldorin lord turned to Celebrimbor. "I look to where we may find solace in this hard world," he replied with a sigh. "Of late the hidden land of Felagund's kinsman has been foremost in my mind."

"You mean that of Doriath where Thingol and Melian dwell," said Celebrimbor.

"Indeed," replied Failo. "Though the Girdle is a barrier to all who roam outside that realm's woods, a promise of aid was nevertheless given by its king to all those in dire need. Well here we are, homeless and weathered by grief in the wild. The need is ours for Thingol's promise to fulfil. For what other realm in all of Beleriand is now truly safe from the power of Morgoth? Surely if we were to journey there and seek entry, we should not be denied."

"Perhaps," replied Celebrimbor but Failo saw that his face had darkened.

"I see that Doriath is not to your liking," he observed. "Yet where else would you have us go? The lands are perilous enough for realms unprotected by powerful enchantments. Surely you must see that Doriath is the safest haven for any elf at this time."

"Indeed Thingol's realm would be safest... but not for all elves," replied Celebrimbor. "Perhaps you forget that though I have severed ties with my kin, I am still a son of the house of Feanaro.  
In Nargothrond I found the strength to wrench myself free from the fell doom that hovers over my house. However, to go to Doriath where a very Silmaril now resides would be to tempt the graces of fate that have so far shielded me from the rash thought that has afflicted those who uttered the Oath, and the peoples who still follow them. Would I have the strength of will to stand at ease before Thingol as he wore the great jewel in his halls? Could I trust myself to set aside all the dark conniving thoughts that should surely arise in my mind for my grandsire's work? What terrible deeds might I be moved to commit ere day's ending? Think of bold theft and malicious murder!" He shook his head vigorously. "Nay! I say again I will not tempt fate! Doriath is not the place for me or any of those who would follow my lead."

Failo nodded gently with understanding. "Then where will you go," he asked, looking past Celebrimbor into the easterly distance behind. Where his eyes sought he did not say, yet the son of Curufin smiled with knowing.

"Neither shall I go east," he said softly with a shake of his head. "For that would be to tempt fate in another fashion. Indeed I miss my father and people, as do all we Feanorrim who live in self exile. Yet through fate's mercy the wise inclination to remain in Nargothrond arose in our hearts, following not our rash lords who then lay heavily under the Curse of Mandos. And though I have great pity for my kinsfolk, it would now be folly for us to seek them out at this time. They remain chained to that grave doom from which we fled and I would not place myself or any of those who follow me, under its dismal influence again. Besides, I deem they would not easily forgive our treason. Nay, we have endured enough woe and pain than to go looking for more from our unhappy kin who dwell eastward."

"Then will you remain here with the wood elves?" asked Failo.

"Nay," Celebrimbor replied. "I have given it much thought and have made up my mind to go southward." He waved his hand over the swaying willow tops, pointing to the vague distant blue horizon. "If your heart calls you to the sea of green forests that is Doriath, mine hearkens to great Belegaer itself and the foaming surf upon the beach, the rolling waves upon deep waters and the white gulls gliding in salt tinged airs within sight of a far off isle that speaks of peace and contentment."

His eyes closed as he breathed in deeply of foreign airs that swept over distant shores. After a quiet moment, he turned to the others and found both Failo and Ravenne regarding him with half smiling faces.

"You speak of the Isle of Balar where lord Cirdan and the elves of the Falas now dwell?" said Failo.

"Indeed," Celebrimbor replied.

Failo nodded and looked southward for a while before turning back to Celebrimbor. "Nay, the great water does not call to me. Therefore it is plain that I have my road to take and you have yours." He came forward and put a hand on Celebrimbor's shoulder. "Well it seems we have chosen our ways forward and have little more to say here, so I will take my leave."  
He bowed then to the lord and lady and turned away, passing under the trees and out of sight.

In after days Failo would lead his people to Doriath where they were well received. There he would be known as lord Faelir who with his people, adopted Doriath's stance against the sons of Feanor for possession of the Silmaril.

In the meantime, Celebrimbor turned to Ravenne who stood looking northward. The wind was in her hair and the sun shone upon her face. She was indeed a sight to behold, standing tall and slender with an aura of strength and stern purpose about her. Celebrimbor did not speak, staring rather at the wonder of womanhood that stood before him. How could one not admire her dark beauty. Yet Celebrimbor perceived a touch of sadness in Ravenne's gaze; a great melancholy hidden behind those grey pools; the windows to her troubled soul. Yet he knew that such had always been Ravenne's way, to be stern and silent of mood, being a formidable woman who in the grimness of heart led a deadly company that had fought selflessly and valiantly for their people. Whatever grief lay in her heart had been both a blessing to the Noldor who had benefited from her service, and yet an unceasing burden of sorrow to her happiness. It pained him to see so much darkness in one who might have been a fair lady of great joy, and whose lofty beauty would have been a constant wonder to all as it shone through her blessed smile.

But now Ravenne turned to him, a little perturbed by his wordless stare. Her brow creased to a soft frown. "And why do you stare at me Telperinquar?" she asked.

"I await your choice as to where you wish to go." he replied. "Will it be the woods of Doriath or the far Isle of Balar?"

Ravenne's gaze turned southward and then back again to the north. "Neither realm is to my liking," she said after a moments thought. "Doriath is as perilous for me as it is for you. I will not go that way. Yet neither am I called to the Isle of Balar."

"Then would you stay here with the people of Estannen?" Celebrimbor asked. "Surely you would not let the valour of the Ohtatyeronissi waste away in the wild woods. There is need of arms in the realms of elves that still survive the onslaught of Morgoth. The fell swords of the Warrior Women would be a welcome addition to any lord's army, even were it on a far isle that may serve as the last refuge of elves in Beleriand."

"Do not fear," Ravenne replied. "I do not mean to retire the swords of my company. Yet you speak truly when you say there is need of arms in other elven realms that still stand. And so my heart is moved to turn eastward, and there seek for our kin who now dwell upon the hill of Amon Ereb!"

Celebrimbor stood silent, staring with eyes that had widened with shock and fear. "You mean to return to our folk Ravenne! How can this be? Did my words to Failo fail to give you any understanding? Would you now replace yourself directly under the Curse that broods over our lords and the people who still follow them?"

"I mean to do just that," came her staunch reply.

"What folly is this?" cried Celebrimbor. "Surely you must see that you cannot go back there. To those of Amon Ereb you are but a traitor whose punishment could be death for your treason. And even if you were somehow forgiven, you would still have to contend with the Curse of Mandos which would inflict itself upon you all the more, in harsh payment for spurning the gift of freedom that fate had given you in finding the heart to stay in Nargothrond."

It was Ravenne's turn to raise her voice. "Do you think I do not know it!" she returned with a flash of eyes. "Long have you preached this to us, hoping to say it often enough so as to have yourself believe that our separation from our folk is a good thing. But know Telperinquar that it was not through any deserving merit of ours that fate used us as tools to sharply reprimand Tyelcormo and Curufinwe for their malicious deeds. We were all caught up in the great events of that time as we became part of the tale of Beren and Luthien's quest. Yet I do not think we are forgiven for our past mistakes. The wrath of the West still lies heavily upon us and we should not presume to absolve ourselves simply because we chose not to follow our rash lords.

I cannot continue to look askance to my kinsfolk and shun them by leaving the mainland of Middle-earth in a vain attempt to flee our doom. My allegiance to our people must come first. I had forgotten that in my bitterness of heart but no more. I shall beg our peoples forgiveness so that I might continue to serve them as best as I may. Surely the swords of the Ohtatyeronissi will be welcomed by our ever dwindling folk. Therefore I go to Amon Ereb with any who choose to go with me. My mind is well and truly made up."

Celebrimbor sighed. "Grave are your words Lady Feanariel," he said, "and thinly veiled is your reprimand. So you think I am a craven prince who flees his duty to his people. Yet must one out of duty blindly follow the lead into folly? If my eyes are now opened to my mistakes, why should you rebuke the purposes of my conscience. You upbraid the repentance of those who aim to set right within themselves the wrongs of old. That is not fair Ravenne. Moreover, I have in me a measure of foresight that has me follow a different path that shall lead to some far off future that I cannot yet perceive. For I feel in me a destiny that I must achieve. There is some great deed that I must do. I have no idea of what it might be but I am moved to make these decisions here and now, so as to fulfil that far off aim. I can put it no plainer than that."

Ravenne looked intently at the prince for a long moment and slowly nodded her head. "Indeed there is a doom to be read here," she said at last. "Yet I am doubtful as to whether its outcome shall be good. You are of the seed of Feanaro and the very inheritance of his fame passed to your father Curufinwe and so into you. For you are imbued with a part of your grandsire's great skill of craftsmanship.  
Therefore I will say this to you Telperinquar, son of Curufinwe, son of Feanaro: the spiritual eye of your grandsire shall be fixed more fully upon you who received his gift. The Silmarils that were made of his craft have brought great joy, yet terrible woe to the world. Beware that you do not fall into the same trap, and use your inherited gifts to create works that may also bring unbounded happiness to the elven realms of the day, and yet instigate a great ruin unto the land."

Celebrimbor blanched at that. "You are a stern lady," he said. "Yet seldom have you been this grim. Does my decision to seek the Isle of Balar rather than the hill of Amon Ereb cause you such offence that all you would hope for me is a dark and dismal future?"

"Nay fair prince!" she replied, coming close to him and taking his hands in her own. "What foresight reveals to us can either be fathomed for good or for ill, yet to be forewarned is to have the wisdom to proceed wisely when the time comes. I do not want you to make the same mistakes of your fathers Telperinquar, that is all."

Celebrimbor looked into Ravenne's eyes and saw a warmth that had come to light. A faint smile brightened her face as she genuinely sought to comfort him from her stern words. She held no ill will towards him as he had thought. Celebrimbor realised then that this was a strange woman, whose true mind and purposes could hardly be fathomed. Yet at that moment he felt compelled to try.

"Ravenne," he said softly. "I would ask you something, yet I do not want you to become angry."

She looked questioningly at him. "What is it?" she asked.

Celebrimbor took in a deep breath. "I know you have given your reasons for returning to our people and they seem valid enough, yet I cannot help but wonder if there is more behind it. I ask as your friend so do not take offence. Is there some other reason that has you look to Amon Ereb at this time?"

Ravenne's face darkened as her smile vanished and the warmth in her eyes retreated behind a hard shell. She released his hands and turned away, reasserting a distance between them.

"Why do you ask such as that?" she said with vague irritation. "Can I not for honour find my way back to where I feel I belong?"

"Perhaps you can," answered Celebrimbor. "But I cannot help but feel that there is more to it than that."

A silence then passed between them and the surrounding woodland voiced its presence. A gentle breeze whispered in the ear, the green stems upon the boughs of the willows nodded and their rustling leaves waved. Yellow eyed blackbirds and red breasted robins twittered as they flew by or sat perched upon smooth tree limbs; brown chirping skylarks were nesting amid the bracken. The high skies were feathered by smatterings of white cloud, sailing lazily amid a blue backdrop that was brightly lit by a warming sun.

"Perhaps I have asked too much, my Lady," said Celebrimbor, breaking the silence between them. "I shall therefore take my leave." He bowed to her and began to walk away.

"Wait!" came the call that halted him. He turned and found Ravenne looking eastward with eyes that would pierce the haze of distance, and see from afar the fortress upon the lonely hill.

"I am weary Telperinquar," she said to him. "Weary of fighting, of fleeing...of the longing." She turned to him with eyes ablaze with some intense emotion that Celebrimbor did not yet understand. "I am weary of living this way," she continued. "Living with such bitterness of heart and the sorrow that comes with it." At that she shuddered visibly. "Oh! but long have I felt this way, though he would not know of my grief, for then he might face that which he has long sought to flee!"

Ravenne seemed then to falter and diminish, as if the words just spoken had struck her with a malady of sudden grief. She paled in the bright sun and her face became drawn with the strain of some inner turmoil that now revealed itself. Her eyes seemed to glaze over, their expression distant and sorrowful.  
Celebrimbor watched and listened intently, and slowly realised the answer to the riddle. Ravenne was quiet now, standing there forlorn with bowed head. He took a step forward, not sure how he could comfort her. In the end he thought he would simply talk.

"So it is as many have guessed...you love lord Tyelcormo."

At the mention of his name she raised her head sharply as if startled out of some distant rapture, and her unseeing eyes cleared.  
"I love Tyelcormo?" she seemed to ask, as if genuinely surprised by his notion. She bowed her head. "Yes," she whispered, afraid to finally say it aloud and admit it to another. She then looked up and Celebrimbor could see the tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "Yes," she repeated in a louder tone. "Long have I loved him. Since our early days in Tirion where we first came to know each other as children, I loved him."

She took a step towards Celebrimbor with a face that exuded an intense vulnerability, and whose mournful glistening eyes searched his imploringly. "You could never hope to understand what it is to endure countless years of denial. It is enough to drive one witless with grief for we as elves were not made to withstand such trials of the heart. Yet such has been my fate Telperinquar and it has been worse than any curse the Valar could have thrust upon me. Yet I am cowed at last for I can no longer keep away from him. I shall endure the hatred and the scorn he shall surely inflict upon me for my treason and betrayal of our ancient friendship. But I shall be near him again and that shall have to be enough."

Celebrimbor listened with great pity and sorrow and came forward to embrace her. "Ravenne, I am sorry," was all he could say.

She tensed with uncertainty as she stood encircled by the comforting gesture of his arms, but the warmth of his genuine sympathy thawed the barriers of her sorrow and she held onto him and wept for a while, releasing the tears of countless years of bitter grief.

Finally she pulled away from him, passing a hand over her eyes. "You must think less of me," she muttered. "To have the Lady Feanariel weep unabashedly in your arms."

But Celebrimbor shook his head. "Nay lady," he said. "I perceive that a great wrong has been done here, and I shudder to think how you have endured it for so long. I do not know why lord Tyelcormo has denied you when it was apparent to all that your destinies were intertwined. Yet let what I say to you now give but a little comfort to your stricken heart: For your love is given to a son of Feanaro and theirs is a strange fate. To enter into it is to take upon yourself the trials and tribulations that beset their doom. Yet you are better than I who am a very prince of their household. For as I would flee, you still have the heart to pursue the prince you love and the conviction to fight for the people you cherish. My lady Ravenne, there are few women if any who are such as yourself, and blessed are we Noldor to have you. My only prayer would be that lord Tyelcormo should come to realise this, and finally treat you in the manner that you truly deserve from him."

Ravenne smiled, bringing about a beauty that had Celebrimbor stare again in wonder. She brought up a hand to caress his cheek. "I seem to have misjudged where your true skill lies as it is not in craftsmanship. For never before has one been so artful in speech so as to enhearten a love stricken lady to hope."  
Celebrimbor laughed.

"And so I would now ask why you have no wife to speak of?" she asked archedly. "As I marvel that there could be any lady who could resist the charms of one of such eloquence."

At that a cloud passed over Celebrimbor's smile and he said gravely, "There is none yet who has so moved me, my lady. Yet I fear that when I finally meet the choice of my heart's happiness, I too shall endure the pain of love unrequited."

Ravenne's smile faded at his grim forecast but Celebrimbor's smile returned. "Nay, do not begin to worry for me. Hearken rather to what I say for I too am now urged to foretell as to your fate: Therefore look to yourself daughter of Sailanambar, for though you do not yet see it, there is light upon your horizon and a glimmer of the happiness you have so craved. You must indeed follow your heart and go to Tyelcormo, for a final chance to set things right between you shall come your way. In that hour, if you give up hope, you will lose your heart's desire. Yet if you hold firm, then you shall gain the love that has long eluded you, though it should last for but a short while."

~oOo~

Soon after, Failo departed from Nan-Tathren with those who would go to Doriath, and these were all the surviving Noldor of the house of Finarfin who were still with him. But not one of the Feanorrim went with them and their parting was a grievous one as the two peoples had grown very close in friendship over the years.  
A few days later Celebrimbor and Ravenne took their leave of Estannen and his folk, and passing south through the willow woods, came to the inflow of the Narog into Sirion. There these two peoples said their farewells, for with Ravenne would go all the women of the Ohtatyeronissi that were left as none would abandon their lady.

"Farewell son of Curufinwe," said Ravenne to Celebrimbor at their parting. "May you find what solace is left for we elves in Beleriand, and keep alive a portion of the Feanorrim who are lighter of heart than their brethren."

To this Celebrimbor answered, "Then it is farewell Ravenne Vanyamore, daughter of Sailanambar who is also the Lady Feanariel of the Ohtatyeronissi. May you find our people upon the hill, and be pardoned for our perceived treason. But let wisdom now rule all your counsels henceforth, rather than the rash pride of a heavily doomed house. And it is my uttermost hope that you shall gain your heart's desire and live awhile in great happiness before the storm. For my heart now tells me that the gravest of deeds lies upon the dark horizon for our people, when all the hopes of the Feanorrim of Amon Ereb should come to grievous battle between elvenkind. I cannot foresee the ruin of its outcome, yet the price shall be heavy for all involved. I will not say more!"

So with those ominous words they parted, and Celebrimbor crossed the Narog with all the people of Feanor that were left to him, and they took their way south. Eventually they did indeed come to the mouths of the Sirion and there were found by Cirdan's scouts who then ferried them over the sea to that final refuge upon the Isle of Balar. Of the terrible deeds of the Feanorrim that took place thereafter in Doriath and Sirion, Celebrimbor and his people took no part.  
After the defeat of Morgoth, only a few of the Feanorrim hearkened to the pardon of the Valar that had many elves return to the West. Instead, they dwelt in Lindon under Gil-Galad until they moved to Eregion and aided in the establishment of the Ost-in-Edhil.

Much is told in later years of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain, the People of the Jewel-smiths of whom all were elven craftsmen of the Feanorrim of Nargothrond. They surpassed in cunning all that have ever wrought, save only Feanor himself, yet the dark words of Ravenne to Celebrimbor who was their leader and of greatest skill among them, finally came to pass even as she had foretold.  
For the elven smiths made the Rings of Power that were to instigate the making of Sauron's Ruling Ring that would tilt the balance of power in Middle earth to evil, and bring great ruin to all for years to come.  
In this the wise have said could be discerned perhaps the final vengeance of the fiery spirit of Feanor against the treason of Celebrimbor his grandson and the Feanorrim of Nargothrond, by bringing a final ruin to all their hopes and aspirations, and so have them pay at long last for fleeing their kin of old and abandoning the grim purpose to which they had promised to uphold during their ancient rebellion.

Yet for Ravenne and the Ohtatyeronissi, they did indeed come to Amon Ereb, to the great wonder of their kin. There they were pardoned and received by most of their people, yet some few were still unforgiving though these held their tongues. But in an act of sincere penance, Ravenne refused to be reinstated to her former position at council as some had desired. She instead remained the captain of her company. However, the Ohtatyeronissi were now few as many had been lost in the wars fought over the years, but they were still a formidable force to be reckoned with, and held in honour by the majority of their people. Yet between Ravenne and Celegorm lay a great void, which for her was a silence of uncertainty as to how to approach the anger of his brooding silence. But on the night of the eve of their march, it came suddenly to her heart that she could no longer delay, as time had almost run out for settling what lay between them.

_"We are done, do you hear?" _came the voice from afar, intruding upon Ravenne's thoughts and bringing her back to the fortress upon Amon Ereb.

* * *

Author's Commentary:

This chapter returns to the normal timeline of the story and runs parallel to "THE SONS OF FEANOR"chapter.  
I give a summarised history of the Ohtatyeronissi. This was the way I had originally thought to intro Ravenne's character but it wouldn't have done justice to the whole _"Warrior Women"_ notion that I had. It's a controversial creation on my part and moreso since all the prior chapters have been following the Tolkien canon as closely as possible.

Anyway, this and the next chapter are trying to tie up the relationship between Celegorm and Ravenne.  
I would ask all to forgive the meandering nature my story is now taking, but I just can't bring myself to jump straight to the battle without trying to explore in greater depth this Middle-earth universe. A story can be made up of many other tales that join the main flow of the original piece and thereby complement and hopefully en-richen it.  
As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter.


	9. Of Celegorm And Ravenne

**THE FALL OF DORIATH**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have used the different forms of father-names and mother-names for the sons of Feanor.**

***OHTATYERONISSI means the "Warrior Women"**

**Chapter Nine...  
"THE SON OF FEANOR AND THE LADY OF THE OHTATYERONISSI"**

_"We are done, do you hear?" _came the voice from afar, intruding upon Ravenne's thoughts and bringing her back to the fortress upon Amon Ereb.

She turned to Celegorm's dark form who still sat in his chair. "So it has well and truly come to this between us," she said softly, coming forward to stand before him at the opposite end of the table. "You neither miss my friendship nor want it! Those are hard words Tyelcormo, harder for me than you could possibly know."

"And I mean what I say Ravenne," he returned. "Our ancient friendship is no more and the sooner you understand this, the better shall I be pleased."

She stood then, staring at him in silence. She was shrouded in shadow, yet Celegorm could see the gleam of her keen eyes as she watched him. He took up his flagon, held it to his lips and drank deeply of his wine with grey eyes that stared back at her from the cup's rim.

Ravenne pulled out the chair in front of her. "You may think to be rid of me but I shall not give up so easily on our friendship," she said as she sat down.

A slow smile formed upon Celegorm's lips; one that was cold and conveyed a sense of malice. His eyes glinted in the candlelight. "Friendship?" he said softly. "Is that all you have ever wanted of me?"

It seemed that Ravenne froze where she sat, with only a flicker in her eyes that gave away her great alarm.

But Celegorm laughed mockingly. "Do you think that there could be anything more between us after all these years?" Yet his scornful flippancy of matters that touched her near roused a heated anger.

Ravenne's reply was ardently swift. "Do not overstep yourself Tyelcormo or you will indeed earn my hatred," she hissed. "I tire of the childishness you seek to portray. Behave like a man for once instead of cowering behind such insinuations."

Celegorm's smile faded and his eyes hardened. He turned away and failed to see her look of relief, or the fact that she was trembling.

"Many a time have I wondered about you," she continued, seeking to drive their talk away from the feared truth. "Always have you played the part of the brash prince of your house, ever proud and wilful, with little thought for those around you."

Celegorm turned sharply to face her again with eyes ablaze with rising ire. "And when did I ever fail to give thought to you and our friendship?" he returned. "With you it seems the blame is all mine for what passed between us, though it were you who abandoned me when I most needed your loyalty and support. And now you have the impudence to call me a _'brash over eager princeling'_ of little substance and maturity. Yet what of the crooked in you Ravenne? You who would wilfully suppress the womanhood that is your due through some strange desire. One would not know you were a lady save by your looks which though sightly, are wasted upon you."

Ravenne lowered her hurt ridden eyes but Celegorm continued unabated. "Indeed, if you would lavish me with perceived faults, then you must be told of your own! But I will not sit in my own chamber to be insulted by the likes of you." He stood up abruptly. "Now I have told you before but shall not again. Show yourself to the door or I shall treat you as the man you crave to be and forcefully thrust you out!"

Ravenne however did not move. "Always the _'hasty riser'_ as your mother named you," she said calmly. "But you should know better than to think you could daunt me. I will leave when I am done for I have much to say that you aught to hear and consider before you decide to turn your back on what we may mean to each other."

Celegorm seemed to hesitate. His eyes narrowed briefly; the line of his mouth hardened; his jaw clenched. He made a slow movement but it was to retake his seat.

"But why do you behave as you do Tyelcormo?" Ravenne asked, shaking her head. "Your wilful pride serves only to show that you are not content with yourself. Yet believe me, you have nothing to prove. Not to your brothers or your father or your people and least of all to me! Can you not see that?"

"So now you would profess to know the inner workings of my mind with your foolish assumptions," he replied. "You know nothing of me Ravenne!"

"If you think you are still a mystery to me after knowing you so long, then you are gravely mistaken," she returned. "I know you better than you know yourself. Yet the way of Feanaro and his sons to my heart is through pity as I understand them at last."

"_You_ would pity me?" said Celegorm incredulously.

"To be sure," Ravenne replied. "I pity all the princes of the Feanorrim whose true intentions and purposes are overruled by a destined fate that is set against them."

"Then my lady speak plainly," said Celegorm. "For if you would take issue as to our _intention_ of going to Doriath with the _purpose_ of retrieving our Silmaril, say so and be done!"

"Then let me say this," Ravenne complied. "You awake from slumber a deadly peril that should afflict the Feanorrim dearly, should you provoke it."

Celegorm stirred in his seat but Ravenne raised a halting hand. "Nay, listen to what I say Tyelcormo for you know I speak not out of cowardice but that I merely foretell. So I have come in part to warn you because of our friendship, and that you are most eminent in this venture. Therefore heed me when I say; do not go to Doriath with war, for fate will be set against you and the outcome shall not be so good. There shall surely be other ways of which to attain the jewel that are not so fraught with the dark power of the Curse."

Celegorm sat eyeing her in utter amazement. Suddenly, he began to laugh loudly with genuine amusement. "Ravenne, you do make me laugh," he said, wiping away the tears from his eyes. "You truly missed your calling in life as you should have been a court jester!" He downed his wine and poured himself a refill. "So," he continued, "first you find much fault with me and now it is with my brothers and our deeds. And all this abuse is given by one who seeks to renew a friendship between us. You are truly a wonder!"

"And again you choose not to listen or to understand," said Ravenne with exasperation. "Confound your obstinate pride that would hinder at the worst of times!"

"Enough!" cried Celegorm. "I have taken much from you this night but you tread on perilous ground. You will not speak to me as though I were a child."

"Then refrain from behaving like one!" cried Ravenne in return. "It is because I care that I say these things. Do you not see that it is folly to hold blindly to your Oath without thought of consequence. Even I whom of old was foremost in supporting all your father said and did, now understand that we were wrong in many aspects of our thought, and so should rethink our stance and choose wisely when stood at the crossroads of doom as we are here and now."

"And what would you know of it?" snapped Celegorm. "You who uttered not the Oath, and therefore has no inkling as to what truly moves we princes to do the deeds we do. You who can afford to change your mind on a whim as to supporting our cause. How dare you come to me this night, claiming to be a sage of grim prophecy as to our future! You are but an unrepentant traitor, who comes to me with treasonous counsels! Yet you shall not waver my vowed resolve! My Oath is ever the guiding star that shines in my night sky, keen and bright. Not for any thought or counsel shall I abandon this purpose for it is still to me the only reason for which we came to Middle earth. Yet if you would fall upon the wayside, let the burden of guilty weakness be yours alone. My Oath however is my bond, to which I shall forever hold. And if fate be against me in this endeavour, then so be it! I and my brothers have a legitimate claim to the Silmaril and we shall retrieve it with war if needs be...or die trying."

"Oh truly are you your father's son!" cried Ravenne, shaking her head. "Both foolishly proud and headstrong. No counsel, however wise can move you once your mind is made up. On you would go to a folly of great immensity, though the whole world should beseech you to stop and take heed!"

She regarded him then as if he were a troublesome child whom no amount of scolding could deter from mischievous deeds. "For all your faults I once thought highly of you," she continued in a softer tone. "You were a spirited and lively prince, both popular with your people and very dear to me. Yet behind your proud strut was a thoughtfulness that many missed, seeing only the dashing exterior you sought to portray. But I who was close to you perceived the wisdom bequeathed to you by Nerdanel your mother."

At that, Celegorm who had been facing away now turned back to her with flaming eyes that hinted a growing peril as to her words.

But Ravenne continued. "Yet ever have you favoured the traits of your father over those of your mother which would guide your life's decisions all the better. However, in thinking of her I now understand my own place in this sorry tale. For as she suffered for love of a prince of the elder house of Finwe, such too is my miserable fate. For know that as Feanaro failed Nerdanel by his deeds, so too have _you_ failed me!"

At that, Celegorm rose from his seat as a vision of bitter anger, and came towards Ravenne with an outstretched arm that would wrench her from her seat.

"Nay!" he growled as he came. "I have heard all I have stomach for."

He grabbed her arm and yanked her from her chair, but she thrust him back with a push of emotional violence. They faced one another and the tension in the air crackled with the strain between them that seemed like a smouldering fire, drawn from eye to eye, that might suddenly burst to flame.

It was Ravenne who cut the silent deadlock between them. "How does the truth feel Tyelcormo!" she said in a low voice that was full of challenge. "And to think that your true failure has been as much to me as to your poor mother whom you disdainfully abandoned, caring not for her sorrow and misery!"

Celegorm suddenly stepped forward and with the swiftness of a striking snake, struck Ravenne across her face with the back of his hand. The blow sent her staggering back to collide into her chair. There she stood a moment, with her face still turned aside from the blow and hidden from view by her tousled dark hair. A trembling hand was held to her cheek. She was breathing hard. Slowly her head turned back to face Celegorm and her hair fell away to reveal an expression of utter shock. But Celegorm's eyes blazed unapologetically in their response.

"You!" he sneered. "Who do you think you are to talk so about Nerdanel. You can denigrate me, my brothers and even my father but to include my mother in your crazed rantings! You insolent brazen fool!"

Ravenne continued to stare but Celegorm turned away and as he did so, passed a hand across his eyes. He leaned against the table with his head bowed, glowering in the shadows.

"I will not apologise for striking you," he said after a bristling pause. "All you have done this night is to goad me with your abuse, and I am sick of you. For you have but added an unnecessary burden to my honour as I now blame myself for my violence against you." He sighed long and wearily. "All I wanted this night was to retire early and find some semblance of peace before the storm. But you have utterly denied me that Ravenne for I shall not sleep now for guilt." He slowly turned to her with eyes that were quenched of their light. "Get out," he muttered.

But Ravenne let fall the hand that was held to her cheek, straightened to stand tall and shook her head in refusal. "Speak to me," she said softly. "Make me understand you Tyelcormo. I deserve that now at least." The shock had faded from her eyes, which had softened with sorrow and moistened with wearied emotion.

Celegorm turned away again and took up his flagon of wine, raising it to his mouth to drink. But suddenly, he flung it across the room where it shattered against the far wall, staining a fair hanging and scattering its broken pieces upon the fur rugs. But Ravenne did not flinch at the sudden show of frustration.  
Celegorm eyed her a moment before returning to sit heavily on his chair. He leaned back to stare out the western window; his face red and deeply shadowed in the ruddy light.

"Do you think we did not love our mother, Ravenne?" he asked after a moments reflection. "Do you think it was easy for us to leave her? You know nothing of how we brothers used to lie to our father when we lived in exile at Formenos. _"We go to hunt,"_ was our devious claim when he or you or any other enquired as to our journeying. We reckoned none knew of our secret meetings with our mother then, in the lands between Tirion and Formenos. How could we spend all those years without seeing her. Yet Feanaro knew what we did for nothing could escape his subtle mind. But he did not hinder us as he understood our yearning hearts. He knew what it was to love Nerdanel, daughter of Mahtan."

Celegorm stood and went to the window, his dark gaze piercing the western night as if his sights sought to traverse the far distance that separated him from Aman. "But the ensuing events brought about unforeseen griefs, for our grandsire soon lay dead and the Silmarils were stolen." His face whipped back to look at Ravenne. "You cannot truly know of our anguish at that time, though you were there to witness it. From being exiled from Tirion, to losing our grandsire and king to violent death, to the rape of our treasures, it seemed a grave misfortune were pointedly set against the house of Feanaro in the Blessed Land and we could do nothing but retaliate! So we uttered the Oath in our bitter anger and immense despair. Yet none of we brothers have forgotten how Nerdanel begged us to stay, citing the grave fear she had for the future of her sons should they take a road so dark."

His eyes seemed to glaze over as they looked upon visions of sad memory. "I cannot forget her tears Ravenne. Neither can I forget her pleading voice and clutching hands that sought to do what a loving mother does best...protect her children. But did we listen? Could we listen? For all our anguish of heart, how could we refuse Feanaro in that grave hour. If his potent words and mighty strength of will could sway the minds of most of the Noldor to leave the Blessed Realm, then what of we _his own sons_! Yet all of us would have hearkened to Nerdanel if fate had been kinder, but it was not so. Even Ambarussa and Ambarto could not find it in themselves to stay at that time, though she pleaded especially for them to remain. We all were the dutiful sons to our father on that sorrowful day and so we still are even now. Yet our hearts wept and continue to weep at being sundered from our mother. Only in conjured memory can I look upon her face, and hear her softly spoken words of comfort and wisdom. That is all I have left of her."

His eyes now seemed to waver and glisten but he willed his emotion away, staring at Ravenne with solemnity. "And so it has ever been in my heart and in my brothers too. A neverending grief that has no cure save that we should meet our beloved mother again in some far off circumstance. And as I feel this way, so should you now understand your utter folly in dismissing my love for her. You must realise how wrong you were to say that we disdainfully abandoned Nerdanel with not a thought to her sorrow and misery. For we suffer just as much in being apart from her, and more-so, for in our heart of hearts we know we might have been wrong to choose in the manner we did. But such are rash deeds; always seemingly good in the act, but otherwise with hindsight."

Here Celegorm fell silent, staring now at the candle flame that burned in hues of steady blue, broad yellow and wavering red. Ravenne stood with eyes wide in disbelief. Had Celegorm just admitted to the folly of his Oath! She swept towards him and fell to her knees before his seated form. Her eyes now searched his with feverish hope.

"Then if you well and truly feel this way, will you not listen to what I have counselled and change your course as to retrieving the Silmaril?"

Celegorm looked at her and smiled ruefully. "No Ravenne, I will not change my mind."

She stared back at him with an expression that slowly darkened from bright hope to dismay to weary disappointment. Her head lowered and in the gloom she seemed a vision of sorrowful dejection. But Celegorm leaned forward, put his hand to her chin and gently raised her eyes to look into his.

"Come now Ravenne," he said softly. "Now the failure is yours for dismissing the greater design here. Let me say again that I uttered an Oath that cannot be broken, and it should pursue me to the world's end whether I keep it or break it. It is my burden to bear and I cannot shirk from my responsibility, no matter the wisdom or folly of it." He gave a little humourless laugh. "Surely you will cede that from my words there is less of the _brash_ and more of the _sombre_ prince in me now."

Ravenne looked at him a while and sighed. "Even now you jest," she said but there was a hint of a smile upon her face.  
Her grey eyes roved about his person as if to look for some visible blemish that would contradict his words. But she saw and felt his aura, glowing faintly about him in a hue of gallant blue. He now had a renewed self awareness that came of his heartfelt confessions as the thoughtfulness of Nerdanel came to the fore and the wilfulness of Feanor receded. He seemed more like Tyelcormo the son of his mother than Turcafinwe of his father. Indeed the _brash_ prince was gone...for the moment.

"What shall I do with you, son of Nerdanel?" she said at last. "It is plain I cannot avert your counsel no matter how hard I would try. Yet I understand your position all the better and would therefore be at your side if you will have me, to aid you in this direst of conquests." They looked at each other in silence, yet Celegorm's eyes now held a hint of warmth that gave hope to Ravenne.

"I solemnly accept your offer _oselle_ as I also now understand you better," he said at last. "For I see that you are guided by a grave wisdom and foresight of which alas, I can neither choose to follow nor dare to fathom. If mine is to be a dark fate in Doriath then so be it. Were I to meet my doom while fighting for a Silmaril then that shall be as fitting an end for me as should be expected." Here he took her hands in his and smiled warmly. "Yet it would ease my heart to have my oldest friend and adopted sister with me in this most important venture."

But his tender gesture and soft words seemed to rouse a sudden newfound distress in Ravenne that came from the pit of her aching heart.

"Is that all I am to you?" came her question.

It was spoken lightly, yet laden with long ages of emotional meaning. She could see his eyes harden slightly as he leaned back, releasing her hands and setting in place the familiar distance between them. But Ravenne could not let him be any longer. This was the night to declare what truly lay between them.

"Nay Tyelcormo, do not pull away!" she implored. "You have shared with me the most intimate truths that lie in your heart in regards to the Silmarils and your Oath. Yet the time has come to speak of what truly lies between us."

Celegorm shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his face a vision of nervous agitation. "Ravenne," he stammered. "What more do you want said?"

She became very still, yet Celegorm could clearly see that she was trembling. "Do you not know?" was her soft reply.

There was emotional uncertainty in his eyes; as if a notion long hidden now sprung forth to the fore in his mind, forcing him to confront feelings long held in check. Yet he spoke as one who has heard what he least expected.

"So my earlier guess was right," he mused. "You do think there could be more between us." Ravenne did not answer but knelt where she was, as a trembling statue. "And now your words make better sense to me," Celegorm continued with slow realisation. "For I wondered why you declared that I failed you as my father failed my mother." His face was turned aside but now he looked at her again. "But why have you not spoken of this before Ravenne? Not once in all our long years of acquaintance have you alluded to feeling as you do."

"Because after all these years I have been waiting for you to realise that which you have long fled," came her quiet reply. "For there is a part of you that has always known how I truly felt. And so it has been with me as regards to you. But as I ever held myself in readiness, you chose friendship to be the theme of our relationship. This I accepted as I thought you were not yet ready for more between us, but the years passed us by and still you held back." She gave a long tremulous sigh. "So I continued to wait...for longer than any woman has reason to. And I watched in bitter silence as your eye lighted upon others whom you would favour. And that hurt me Tyelcormo! _You_ really hurt me! But with Luthien my heart finally turned cold and I thought to be rid of you. Yet here I returned at last, for I cannot eternally deny myself of you. Nay! I am not as cruel as you who would forever keep me close and yet at bay, under the guise of a dear friendship."

Celegorm looked on with gradual understanding as all of Ravenne's past actions that had perturbed him now made sense. But even as she laid bare her heart, he would still cover up what was in his. Had he ever given thought to what Ravenne could truly mean to him? Of course! She was everything he desired in a woman. Strong willed; courageous; wise; noble and bore a dark beauty that was scarcely to be seen even among elves. Yet he had held himself back from seeking more with her. For even though they seemed so perfect a match, the very prospect of them being together in earnest daunted him.

She had rightly observed that he had never been truly content with himself. He felt his role as a middle prince in his family's hierarchy was difficult to define. From his youth he felt that few listened to or understood him. He was always in the shadow of his elder brothers Maedhros and Maglor who were beloved by both his parents and greatly esteemed and honoured by all in Aman and Middle-earth. Yet it seemed that greater love were also given to his younger siblings, for Curufin was Feanor's favourite son whilst Amrod, Amras and Caranthir were closer in affection to Nerdanel.

It is this notion that had made Celegorm the prince he would later become, for if his family would overlook him, he thought to gain the notice of their people. Therefore he portrayed himself as the brash but gallant son of Feanor; seen in his peoples eyes as the dashing prince of the elder royal house. He took to hunting since it were a very popular pastime in Aman that garnered great respect and accolades for those who excelled in it. These he won, further elevating his status in the hearts of his people. He chose also to accentuate his solitary status by refusing to accompany his father and his siblings when they were guests in the house of Aule, seeking rather his own road to the mansions of Orome instead.

As time passed, he soon garnered the high esteem of all his people that was scarce less than that of Maedhros himself. Yet in his heart he still had many insecurities. And so he kept Ravenne at bay, fearing he could never be good enough for the one woman he felt utterly content with as she would soon discern the weaknesses he strove to hide under his proud and wilful mask and thereby come to scorn him.  
But now Ravenne leaned forward, clutching his hands. Her expression was more vulnerable than Celegorm had ever seen her, with wide moist eyes that pleaded to his heart, and a trembling mouth that uttered a barely audible whisper.

"Do you not love me Tyelcormo?" came her tentative request.

He did not know what to say. Could he let himself love Ravenne in the manner he truly wanted. His heart yearned for that but his mind refuted his passion. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but seemed to hesitate. Yet Ravenne tightened her grip on his hands and her gaze became more intense in her desperate need for an answer.

"Please," she said. "I have laid bare all my hope, my desire and my anguish." She closed her eyes and tremulously gathered herself as if preparing to say something of great immensity. Suddenly she stilled and slowly raised her head and opened her eyes again.

"For I love you Tyelcormo," she said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Not as my friend or brother but as my heart's partner...my heart's passion! I have loved you since our early years in Tirion and have spent all the later ages yearning for a resolution between us. And I truly believe that I deserve that from you now, given the heartache I have endured in the waiting. Therefore if I have ever meant anything to you, answer me now and as truthfully as you can. Tyelcormo! Do you not love me?"

Once again Celegorm seemed to stutter but at that moment there came a soft music, wafting through the still airs of the warm night. It was the melody of a harp whose strands sang in a manner both haunting and mournful. Yet there was great beauty in its tone that forced ears to listen perforce whether they would or no. Few minstrels had such skill yet this held a power that surpassed all save one. Both Celegorm and Ravenne turned their heads and silently rose as if the sweet melody beckoned to them. All the intimate matters of the heart of which they discussed were set aside in their minds as the musical theme wove its pattern about them, caressing their thought and enticing their sense of wonder.

They both found themselves at the door and as Celegorm opened it, he turned to Ravenne. "There is no-one who can play with such skill save Macalaure. Yet he plays a lament of which I fear he shall say much that I do not want to hear."

"Yet we are forced to listen all the same," said Ravenne as they passed back down the long dim corridor. They soon exited the fortress upon the northern balcony whose steps led down to the inner courtyard that had Denethor's tombstone at its centre. There upon the landing, looking down from the white balustrades were a mesmerised Caranthir, Curufin and Amrod as they had just come from the Sambe an i Haryoni (Chamber for the Princes). All the patrolling guards in the area stood by with heads turned to Maglor, abandoning their duty to the powerful permeating enchantment of the song.

Upon reaching the balustrades, Celegorm and Ravenne looked down into the courtyard below and saw that it was crowded with the elves of Amon Ereb, and their numbers passed under the shadow of the tunnel and massed in the larger courtyard beyond, and so spilled even outside the gates and onto the sloping grey road. For all the elves hearkened to his song and stood with mesmerised faces that were all turned to Maglor or in his general direction. He himself stood by the black stone with his silver harp in hand. His long fingers strummed a melody of effortless beauty and yet of potent melancholy, seemingly subtle in its power yet overwhelming to the senses.

Now he raised his head and began to sing in a voice that took flight, meandering in the windless night airs with an enchantment that had his voice seem close and intimate, as if he sang into each and everyone's very ears, even those who were away on the outer slopes. His voice wandered even to the surrounding fields and woodlands so that the shadowy figures that patrolled there, stopped in their tracks as they listened. Further afield his voice went, rolling to the very banks of the Gelion whose waters flowed gently by, reflecting the countless stars with soft watery light.  
All then heard Maglor's song of which he sang of his father and the deeds of his house.

T'was born there once in Tirion  
a royal child, a kingly son,  
of Feanaro here is sung  
of deeds he dared these words are spun.  
T'was kindled of the fire of old  
that burned ere world begat it's mould,  
Imperishable Flame of yore  
was bound to him, such is known lore.  
His mother fair a queen of elves  
whose hands could weave akin to spells,  
his father sat on mighty throne  
an elven king in elvenhome.  
And of their love was thus conceived  
the princely gift their joy received,  
yet of their son arose the strife  
that birthed an heir, yet felled a life.  
Consumed was queen of nurturing strength  
and wearied lay through birth of length,  
to nourish him her mighty son  
she gave her life, her doom was spun.  
Her dimming eyes caressed his face  
with lips she blessed him with her grace,  
O Miriel began to wane  
as time thereof she could not gain.  
To Finwe king turned wearied eyes  
and she perceived his sadness rise,  
but said to him _"Ere I retire  
our son I name him __**'Spirit of Fire.'"**_

She bade the king to rear his son,  
he looked to hope, she gave him none,  
and thereby lay to rise no more  
of ailment wracked that none could cure.  
Then Finwe sought the Elder King  
whose throne is perched on heaven's wing,  
where glittered domes and tall halls shine  
all shod in silver for all time.  
Before the throne of Arda knelt  
sad elven king misfortune dealt,  
with shedded tears he gave his plea  
that waning wife be healed and free.  
Delivered then to Lorien  
went sickly queen through glade and glen,  
to silver groves and meads so fair  
where willow woods sway in the air.  
There Miriel laid her down to rest  
fair spirits sang at her behest,  
the care of Irmo she received  
yet still her taint was not reprieved.  
Upon her bed in gardens green  
where voices sing through lips unseen,  
where seeds undying flower and bloom  
was wrought at last her final doom.  
She slept beside the sparkling lake  
to dreams that sought her, not to wake,  
there Finwe called her by her names  
alas she'd fled to death's domain.  
Of all who lived in Valinor  
under the light of trees of yore,  
where joys abound encompassed all  
save for the king where smiles would fall.  
Thus Finwe dwelt sad in his grief,  
with mourning heart shorn of relief,  
to him all light shone wan and grey  
his laughter fled, his cheer at bay.

All love bequeathed then to his son  
a princeling babe that grief would shun,  
and lo! the boy he swiftly grew  
with secret fire he only knew.  
Was tall and fair with raven hair  
of piercing eyes that few could dare,  
t'was eager, steadfast, masterful,  
a kingly scion, born to rule.  
Yet greater gift he had of hand  
more skillful than all in the land,  
for prone he was to works so dear  
t'was Aule deemed his only peer.  
He wed his maiden Nerdanel  
whose sculptured works no eye could tell,  
and she the daughter of Mahtan  
with seven sons bore him his clan.

Tall Nelyafinwe is the first  
most noble, wise, in lore well versed,  
is mighty fair with russet mane  
of greatness worthy of his name.  
The second is an elf of song  
to heed his harp beckons a throng,  
of music fair which is his love  
a golden trait of pride thereof.  
The third is he of father's mould  
proud warrior, hunter, swift and bold,  
steadfast in will and strong of hand  
and thus deemed fair prince of the land.  
The fourth is dark, of ruddy hue  
yet steadfast in all deeds is true,  
in speech of few words is his wont  
a darkling prince that naught can daunt.  
The fifth was born alike his sire  
and him most favoured by his father,  
in skill of craft and to orate  
bequeathed to him Feanaro's trait.  
The sixth a twin inside the womb  
his russet hair the red heirloom,  
a hunter him of all beasts wild  
the little prince, of temper mild.  
The seventh son, a second twin  
a name of fate was given him,  
as he misgave his mother's heart,  
and he the first of kin to part.

Of works of hand and thoughts of mind,  
of gems he wrought and words he primed,  
surpassed he was in all by none,  
t'was Feanaro kingly son.  
Yet greatest deed that he achieved  
were Silmarils in glory wreathed,  
but of them came his darkest woe  
as doomed their fate with grave sorrow.  
Of labour wrought there is no tale  
that speaks of skill and vision hale,  
in secret smithy delved down deep  
he wrought what fate would bid and keep.  
With power tempered, fraught with might  
his thought he shaped to his delight,  
with iron will he summoned forth  
three mighty jewels of glorious worth.  
There mingled light that trees did rear  
in Silmarili crystal clear,  
and set to live in new made house  
by searing heats no frost could douse.  
A power steeped within the stone  
the shining flames of radiant tone,  
their living hearts never to fade  
of shimmering light their sight would bade.  
Of gold and silver were their rays,  
a glance that spoke of noontide days  
in Valinor when light would meet,  
and joyous song would hour greet.  
Caught in their eye made all seem fair  
great beauty laid that few could bear,  
unmarred thereof by blight of time  
their vision cleared all sight of rime.  
The elves rejoiced to see their light,  
astounded were the Gods of might,  
and thronging Maiar praised in awe  
the jewels that Feanaro bore.  
Great Aule bowed to elven skill  
that kingly son bent to his will,  
and Mandos told to all the doom  
that lay locked deep within their womb.  
The fate of earth and sea and air  
were set within the Silmarils care,  
and Varda blessed them with her might  
that darkness fail to faint their sight.  
She set to work with lofty tools  
and hallowed them those living jewels,  
that hand unclean or mortal blight  
be taintless to their holy sight.  
Esteem and praise were prince's due  
for labour wrought and for their hue,  
fastbound his heart clung to his work  
yet soon his pride he could not shirk.

Then him the lord of evil fate  
was filled with lust and jealous hate,  
and moved was he with dark desire  
that flamed and raged like gnawing fire.  
With secret power and restless toil  
sought then to tempt with evil foil,  
by sowing seeds of lingering doubt  
to Noldor sinless and devout.  
A poisoned peace of whispered lies  
the Deep Elves fell from grace's eyes,  
a great unrest thereafter grew,  
a folly great bequeathed their due.  
For hark the elven ears to lies  
that darkened hearts, and joy it prised,  
their pleasure fled as Morgoth willed,  
content in Blessed Realm was stilled.  
And Feanaro's eager heart  
was smote by tyrant's wicked dart,  
that kindled then a riled desire  
to seek for new realms to acquire.  
Thus smouldering lies and prideful ire  
of malice cold, of hate and fear,  
and woe grew rife to elven folk  
through counsel fed of evil yoke.  
Then bitter weapons none had known  
fell tools the elves began to hone,  
as harried thoughts of prideful lust,  
denied their peace, brought forth mistrust.  
T'was forged in secret deadly swords,  
cruel sharpened blades filled elvish hoards,  
and burnished shields and tall plumed helms  
and armour bright to girt themselves.  
And hunting bows found uses new  
their quarry now of elvish hue,  
as were the axe and glinting spears,  
now set in hand to ward all fears.  
Yet more unrest the Noldor had  
as were Feanaro's deeds at hand,  
that fey would lead to sundered house  
through vaulted ire he would not douse.  
Beneath the Mindon tall and fair  
where shining towers pierce the air,  
in halls of marble glistening white  
befell a deed of shameful blight.  
For grim Feanaro drew his sword  
set to his kin with threatening word,  
before the throne and father's eyes  
unheeding brought true Morgoth's lies.  
Thus angered Valar judged at last  
who sowed the discontent so vast,  
t'was Morgoth who would elves defame  
and too Feanaro was to blame.

Then banished him for twelve long years  
forlorn he left with sons and peers,  
the city of his elven kin  
for love of him went too the king.  
To Formenos in northern hills  
where towered pines and glistened rills,  
of treasuries deep and delved halls fair  
was fortress built, a banished lair.  
Yet princely house was stricken new  
and mourned their loss on wooden pew,  
for Nerdanel, she followed not  
estranged through griefs she'd not forgot.  
Her prince's deeds left her aggrieved  
for all the anguish they achieved,  
as in her lord was much askew  
that rendered lost the love they knew.  
Of evil deeds that came to pass  
assailed the trees that lit the past,  
gold Laurelin was dimmed and worn  
Telperion left silver shorn.  
Yet worse the woe than death of trees  
that Noldor felled to anguished knees,  
for Finwe king braved mounting night,  
of spidery horror and tyrant might.  
His valour barred his enemies gain,  
and evil faced, yet thus was slain,  
the gates were breached and walls cast down,  
as vapours coiled in shadow's gown.  
Our chambers deep were all laid bare  
for such a prize was Morgoth's dare,  
the Silmarils he stole in hand  
and thus he fled his enemies land.

The cups of woe we drank that day  
drained to the dregs in sadness grey,  
the horror and grief assailed our hearts  
made true our fears by dreadful arts.  
Confused in heart, mistrust in mind  
our bitter ire, our thoughts unkind,  
to seek revenge for merciless deeds  
that fouled our land with evil seeds.  
Thus Feanaro named his foe  
who etched our hearts with gloom and woe,  
who razed our lands with grief and fear  
whose malice, hatred had no peer.  
Then grieving prince fled through the night  
past mournful lands of shadowy blight,  
and came upon his broken gates  
where strewn walls cast their stony weights.  
With grief unfathomed staggered forth  
through ruined halls raised in the north,  
his faltering steps halt at that place  
where lay the king by dint of mace.  
His wail arose that haunted hearts,  
and strickened ears like piercing darts,  
a swoon of grief, a fevered faint  
lay long near death by sorrows taint.  
Beyond all hope he rose again  
awakened eyes bore seething pain,  
his heart was stoned, his mood was cold  
his brooding thoughts thereafter bold.  
With anger that our vengeance sent,  
defied we then our banishment,  
and thus returned to Tirion's halls  
to stand before the blood lit walls.  
With fiery words our grief would shore  
we coaxed a will to march to war,  
and leave behind the timeless halls,  
the glittering meads, the silvery falls.  
So great a hate misfortune bred  
that roused a madness, anger fed,  
an Oath of rage was therefore sworn  
of heated words all pity shorn.  
Yet Oath so sworn is etched in fate  
our chosen paths its doom would sate,  
our words were fell to mould harsh deeds  
to feed our claim and suit our needs.  
Proclaimed were words the wise would rue,  
those uttered staves would have their due,  
the Valar wise we gave them blame  
and turned our backs, to folly's gain.

The first of lives our swords then slew,  
our seaward kin by waters blue,  
those deeds upon us set a blight,  
an evil sin beset our flight.  
Our terrible deeds we've none to blame  
for works of malice we'd set aflame,  
Our hearts and minds are clouded through,  
all hopes are wrought with dismal hue.  
Our princely lives are grimly charmed  
yet dreams are lost, our goals are harmed,  
seldom content in who we are  
all that is good, our hands would mar.  
The Curse that lingers overhead,  
curtails our joy and doubt is fed,  
would crush all hope of planned success,  
despair its ploy, its smile our stress.  
Yet still our people follow us  
steadfast and true, pledged us their trust,  
for them whatever may betide  
in fell resolve, in war shall strive.  
For gruesome is the need so asked  
a dire revenge their hands are tasked,  
thus harden all your darkened hearts,  
to rueful deeds of dreadful arts.  
Our quest which deemed of worthy note  
shall garner shame the Curse did quote,  
as all is done in vengeance name,  
an elvish work of hateful fame.  
O' Feanaro kingly son  
bear witness as your will is done,  
as pitiless your dark desire,  
wrought of a hate and perilous fire.  
Look now upon your dwindled folk,  
who serve as chained to your fell yoke,  
and feed their swords, and guide their thrust,  
our evil deeds are in your trust.

The chanting ceased and a grand silence permeated all about the fortress, save the quiet whisperings of the night breeze. The elves all stood with downcast faces and none looked up as Maglor gently pushed past the throng that surrounded him and disappeared under the arched arcaded walkway. He had sung his piece and now left them to contemplate his forlorn words. Yet even as he would enter the fortress, a tall shadow barred his way forward. He looked up into the piercing eyes of Maedhros. They stood so for a moment, with Maglor expecting a swift rebuke yet Maedhros remained silent, his gaze betraying nothing of his thoughts. Maglor, evermore agitated under his brother's steely glint opened his mouth to say something but Maedhros suddenly stepped aside. It were plain he wanted no explanation. Maglor bowed his head and passed him by.

Upon the balcony, Celegorm roused himself from the song's mesmerising enchantments. Maglor's song was laden with the sorrowful reflection that was the lament of a weary prince, forced on by a grim fate to do deeds that were undeniable to his will. Celegorm's initial response to Maglor's song was of anger, yet he came to secretly admit that deep, deep down he also felt the same way. _Yes, even him of strong conviction and unwavering purpose_.

He too knew of the growing frustration with the deeds he was forced to do because of his Oath, just as he wearied of the long shadow of his father that cast itself over his thoughts, goading him on to hold to their Oath and avenge him, no matter the dire consequence.  
He stopped himself then, guilt-ridden that he should be thinking so, yet he had been overly honest that night, with Ravenne and with himself and these truthful notions now came freely to his mind. Perhaps he should not feel so bad as honesty was to the good. Yet he felt confused and overwhelmed by the night's events and desperately wanted to retire in peace. He sighed and looked up to find Ravenne watching him with grey unflinching eyes that gave away nothing of what she was thinking. He made as if to say something to her but abruptly turned away and made his way back to his quarters.

Amrod, Curufin and Caranthir turned to look at each other. "Did I not say that we shall not like what we are to hear," said Caranthir. "Macalaure has set a cloud of melancholy over all at the worst possible time. Look at our people who are meant to march to war at first light with high spirits and assured purpose."

His dark gaze swept over the heads of the masses below. Many in the courtyard began moving away slowly with downcast faces. None spoke as each seemed deep in disheartened thought, pondering on their past, present and future deeds that now seemed more questionable than ever. A potent doubt was in the air.

"He should not have done this," Caranthir continued. "If Macalaure has his doubts or regrets, let him ponder in silence rather than sing aloud for all to hear, influencing our people through the power of song to lose hope and question themselves. They shall need all their courage and conviction in this endeavour but he has now set us back with his lament."

"Yet it may not be a bad thing to air ones sorrows and grief's," said Amrod. "I doubt any of us can truly say we do not on some level feel the same as he. But just as our revealing talk felt good in the saying, so could his song aid in our truly coming to terms with our past deeds and so strengthen our resolve for the present and the future."

Curufin looked at his brothers and put a hand upon their shoulders. "Do not blame Macalaure," he said. "This has been a night of opening our hearts to each other as brothers and as a people. It is a night of doom. Nothing that has been revealed from within or without will change our plans for the morrow, yet we are all the wiser for the revelations this night has given. Find strength and wisdom in that and it should be enough."

The others looked at him and after a contemplative moment, both gave nods of agreement. With that they left the balcony in silence.

Beneath them the elves continued to slowly disperse until both courtyards stood empty and forlorn in the night. The guards banter had ceased, the roads upon the hill lay silent, devoid of any movement upon their grey tracks. Soldiers that had huddled around the bright fires, discussing the forthcoming confrontation with hopeful words now lay themselves down, staring silently at the star ridden sky above. A thoughtful gloom had surely descended upon the hill of Amon Ereb and the weather grew colder as the night wore on. The light of the stars wavered and failed behind a spreading black stain as wintry clouds swept in from the east.

Celegorm wearily pushed through his door, leaving it to close behind him. The candle upon the table now burned very low, with undulating flows of melted wax spread about its stand. The light wavered and blinked as it were caught in the chilly gust of wind that followed the prince's entry. Darkening shadows crowded about the table in which the dim shapes of the room were slowly fading to the night. It was cold as a constant draft came from the open window that looked westward.  
Celegorm went to shut it and close the drapes when he suddenly stilled with the thick curtains still held in his hands. He realised he had not heard the door close behind him and so felt the cold caress of a breeze upon his nape. Without turning he gave a weary sigh.

"Ravenne, will you give me no peace this night?" There was no answer and so he turned to face her. There she was, standing tall upon the threshold with a hand to the door. She was all shadowed against the meagre candle light yet her eyes could be seen, glinting in their intense stare. Celegorm knew then that she was far from done with him. He moved to his bed and sat down heavily, burdened in heart and mind.

"Well enter if that is what you want," he said as he lay back upon his bed with legs bent over to the floor. He stared thoughtfully at the carven ceiling and heard the gentle click of the door latch and sensed Ravenne's dark form move to the table where she sat down, facing him. A long silence then passed between them while the room continued to darken as the reddening candle flame whittled down to its base.

"So," said Celegorm, finally breaking the quiet. "No doubt you wish to continue our talk. You asked a grave question which you pleaded me to answer ere we were interrupted by Macalaure's lament."

He paused a moment but Ravenne sat still and silent, giving him room to speak freely. She had said as much as she could on the matter and could only but await his answer. She noted that his tone was direct and sincere. He now spoke from the heart, as a man with nothing more to hide, who would now confront and admit to himself and to her, his true feelings. She realised then that after all these long years, he was going to answer her at last.

"You asked if I loved you as you love me," Celegorm continued, raising himself upright to look at her. He paused again and his stare softened as if he were quietly admiring her from afar.

"You are a marvel to love one such as myself," he said softly. "To love a prince who is cursed. To love a prince who has done terrible deeds and would yet do more against all wisdom, to sate his grim oath." Here he gave a sigh. "Lady, I am an elf of many, many failings. Failings in character and in questionable deeds. You heard my brother's song. Macalaure always sings of the hard truth and this night was of no exception. We are flawed elven princes who have doomed ourselves by our shortcomings. All our dreams have come to naught and our hopes are left unfulfilled. And yet here you come on the very eve of a planned fell deed that would further compound the darkness that surrounds my fate.

Wise maiden, why would you cleave to such an elf? You are among the fairest of the Noldor and many a lord far less tainted than I would be more deserving of your love. You were right to remain in Nargothrond and you should not have returned to me as I will never be good enough for you. How could I let myself love you, O beautiful maiden of the Feanorrim? Could I ever hope to deserve the happiness you would surely bring to my empty life? How can I dare to admit to myself and to you what I have secretly yearned for over the countless years."

Ravenne rose and came to Celegorm, kneeling again at his feet and taking his hands firmly in her own. "You can dare because I dared to admit how I feel to you," she said with intense emotion. "You can dare because there is no other love for my own yearning heart. You say you are not deserving of my love but that is not for you to decide. I know enough to see what is worth loving in you, even if you cannot. Remaining in Nargothrond only taught me that I will ever yearn for who I was meant to love. Do you not see, I was made for you Tyelcormo as you were for me. It is of no use to resist our union or to flee from it and thereby cause more unnecessary anguish for the both of us. I have suffered enough heartache and you have other grief's in your life to bear. But know that be you cursed or doomed to despair, my place has and always will be at your side. Yet we can finally find solace and comfort in each other and together face the hardships that beset our fates."

Celegorm closed his eyes and bowed his head as he listened to her answer him. He thought of their long acquaintance and of how close she truly was to his heart. They had been together through many joys and sorrows and through it all he had relied and trusted deeply in her companionship. Their subsequent estrangement had been a great blow to him, yet he had inwardly hoped against hope to see her again. And he hid well his quiet joy at her sudden return that came beyond all his expectations, masking his relief with exaggerated ire. Yet blameless as she was, she had sought him out to make amends. He knew then that he did not deserve this great woman. This woman of tensile strength, of undeniable courage, of deadly prowess, of unerring purpose, of undeniable beauty, of all-encompassing wisdom. But deserving or not, he perceived then that he could not be forever divided from Ravenne, his true love. He therefore sought to dissuade himself from their union no longer and opened his heart in that hour, letting go of all his doubts and fears to take the chance for true happiness. There would be no more regrets in his life.

He smiled warmly at her, stroking her long pliant dark hair. "Then I will say what you have long known but which I have kept hidden even from myself. For I do love you Ravenne Vanyamore. Long have I denied it, but no more. This is a night of doom, a night of truths and perhaps the very first steps of a new beginning for us all. I would wish to begin anew with you, my love, if you could find it in your wise heart to forgive a most obvious fool. Please tell me that I am not too late. Please tell me you can forgive the countless years of anguish you have endured due to my conduct."

Ravenne's head bowed a moment and when she raised again her face, tears of joy ran smoothly down her cheeks. Her hands touched his face, tenderly caressing his features.  
"It is not too late my dearest prince," she said. "If I awaited you for this long, how could I deny you now that you are come to me. My rejoicing heart is forever yours Tyelcormo son of Feanaro. Of that you can be assured."

Through her tears came a smile of such wanton joy that lit her face to an irrepressible beauty that defied the growing shadows of the room. Celegorm cupped her beaming face in his hands and leaned forward to kiss her. He then leaned back, gazing at her with his own smiling eyes. A serene joy came upon him that he had not known before. This is what true happiness felt like. Yet even so a memory unbidden stirred in his heart.

His expression darkened. "Ravenne, I am sorry I struck you. No matter how angry I was, it was a deed unworthy of a man to a woman, let alone an elflord to his lady."

But Ravenne shook her head. "Nay lord. I was as much at fault for purposely goading your anger with words that were sure to hit the mark. It was not my place to speak so to the prince of my people."

Celegorm's smile returned. "Then with your permission lady let me kiss away the hurtful memory once and for all and so heal both our ailing hearts." With that he laid a tender kiss upon her reddened cheek. Behind them, the candlelight suddenly sputtered, dimmed and went out leaving only a fading trail of curling smoke.

Celegorm looked up. "The light fails. Give me a moment to renew it." He made as if to stand but was held down.

"Let the darkness be," said Ravenne in a low voice. "There is light enough here for the both of us."

A darkness of heated passion then settled in Celegorm's chamber as the chilly night outside wore on over Amon Ereb.

~oOo~

The early morning sky was grey with wintry clouds and the winds were chilly and biting. The landscapes about were dull and dreary in the colourless light and the morning sounds of nature seemed muffled in the heavy cold airs. Yet there was a muted activity upon the hill as the Feanorrim were up and about their business of preparing for their march to war. The brown slopes were now bare as all the tents and banners were stashed away in wains. Warriors now congregated about the threshold of the great gates while those with families and loved ones said their quiet farewells. Captains strode by their men, inspecting their troops and knights of princely households gathered in groups, discussing in soft tones the strategies and policies of war. Yet a sombre mood still lay upon all and morale was low. Such indeed was the power and effect of Maglor's lament.

A bell tolled in the fortress, ringing with a lonesome sound from the walled heights to the plain below. It was the final summons for the troops to gather in readiness. Those still preparing themselves in hall or house now hurried to the gates and fell into their respective phalanx that represented their house. Gathered about the hill behind the waiting troops were most of the women and children of the Feanorrim, come to see off their friends, husbands, brothers and fathers. All waited in silence for their princes to emerge and address them. Soon enough, the great gates opened and out came the six sons of Feanor, striding purposefully to stand before the gathered multitude.

They stood in silence before their people, with bright roving eyes that looked upon their waiting army. To the left stood the phalanx of Maedhros, tall warriors with red leather surcoats and a crimson standard. Long spears with glinting tips were held taut in their hands. Beside them stood the fair warriors of Maglor with surcoats and a waving standard of pale gold. In their belts were long silver daggers. Next came the numerous soldiery of Celegorm, proud elves donned in surcoats of blue as was their standard. Their shining swords were long as were their burnished shields. So came the grim warriors of Caranthir, clad in black. Fearful weaponsmasters they were, armed with cold swords and twin axes that were sheathed across their backs. Next were the tall knights of Curufin, donned in silver as was their tall standard. Their blades gleamed at their sides yet many also carried great maces. Finally there stood the followers of Amrod, wearing surcoats of a green hue and along with sword and shield, carried great bows of yew. To the extreme right stood the bold women of the Ohtatyeronissi with Ravenne at their head. They were attired in their usual livery of dark brown and carried their accustomed twin short swords.

Thus were all the princes represented by their troops, yet they differed from how they normally attired themselves for war as the insignias of each house were of the same fiery design. Emblazoned upon the chest of each surcoat and etched upon each shield was the Star of Feanor. Such too was the design upon their tall standards. This was not an army of six princes but a unified force that served one purpose alone; to fight on behalf of their long fallen lord and fulfil his most intense wish, retrieve his Silmarils.

The brothers now turned their heads to Maedhros for it was customary for him to give the send off. He took a step forward and opened his mouth as if to speak but seemed to think otherwise and turned to Celegorm, beckoning to him. After a moments hesitation, Celegorm came to his elder brother with questioning eyes.

Maedhros put his good hand upon his brother's shoulder. "I would utter a few words yet I feel the honour should go to you. It has been your strength of purpose and conviction that has led to this day. Look at our people. They are doubtful and lowly of heart for Macalaure's words disheartened them. I think only you can rouse again their confidence and morale."

Celegorm looked at their army and saw dimmed eyes and many bowed heads. The fires of purpose were quenched by doubtful waters. His gaze passed over to the Ohtatyeronissi and to Ravenne. There she was, standing tall, proud and effortlessly beautiful, defying the dreary morning. There was a radiance about her face, a clear sparkle in her grey eyes. Swift blissful memories came to him as they gazed at each other. Their eyes twinkled playfully as they rejoiced in each other, laughing inwardly in their secret delight. He looked upon Ravenne Vanyamore, daughter of Sailanambar no longer. He now looked upon his wife.  
Still, he had to wrench free his longing stare, forcing his thoughts from personal mirth to the deed at hand. But he was filled with great confidence at that moment as his heart soared within him.

He gave a nod to Maedhros who stepped back as he turned to address the army.  
"Elves of the Feanorrim! I see a sadness in your faces and perceive a melancholy in your hearts as you stand before me on this the dawn of our march to Doriath. It is clear to me that the words of lord Canafinwe raised doubts as to your intended deeds in the grim endeavour set before us. His lament spoke of our lord Feanaro's life, reminding us of the tragedy and sorrow that befell his house. His mournful words laid the blame mostly with Morgoth, who poisoned the Noldor with his lies before he destroyed the ancient light of Telperion and Laurelin, murdered Finwe our long king and thereafter stole the gems and jewels of Formenos and the very Silmarils that were most dear to us. Yet Canafinwe sang also of lord Feanaro's perceived failings. His reckless ire and seemingly rash deeds. He sang of the Curse of Mandos and the Doom of the Noldor that hampers all our success in Middle-earth. A curse he said, that clouds your minds to do fell deeds that your darkened hearts shall all rue."

At this, many elves could be seen sighing and shaking their heads.  
But Celegorm continued. "Well, I for my part embrace all that Lord Canafinwe said."

Now many looked up in surprise at his words but Celegorm continued. "We are indeed a cursed people who have failed in all our hopes and desires in Middle-earth. We live as elves who are tainted with the blood of kin that stains our hands. We live as elves charged with unjust deeds done to our cousins that darken our memories. I will not deny our guilt of these things. Yet one should question the _reasons_ behind our deeds and not recollect only their dire consequences.

For did we not have a claim over the Teleri when we sought their support and aid in our decision to leave Aman? In the far past we helped them selflessly to build their fair harbour and seaside houses of stone. Much we taught them of the noble customs of Aman, enhancing their meagre knowledge to that of enlightenment. But were we ever paid for our services? Never! For it was our king Finwe whom because of his ancient friendship with Elwe Singollo, brother of Olwe of Alqualonde, asked us to befriend and aid the Teleri freely, and this we did with glad hearts. Yet when we were in dire need they refused us.  
Now let it be said indeed that the Teleri had the right to decline to follow us to Middle-earth, but to deny us even a single swan ship to ferry our people across the sea! Nay, that was unacceptable for by our former deeds as friends, did they owe us even in disagreement! And let it be remembered that it were they who en-acted the first act of violence as they threw our people overboard into the cold sea. We could do nothing but retaliate!"

Now some raised their heads at his words and their expressions became sterner as they remembered the far past. Sentiments that of old had burned like fire within their hearts but had extinguished and were forgotten through the passage of time were now re-ignited by these remembrances.

"And so we were cursed by the Valar," Celegorm continued. "Cursed for a deed which in principle was just. Cursed for being a desperate people whose only crime was to seek for _earned_ reparations in their uttermost hour of need. Yet that blame we have borne with unwavering courage so as to avenge the wrongs levelled at the Noldor. For though the destruction of Telperion and Laurelin maimed the happiness of all the dwellers of Aman, it were the Noldor who bore the brunt of misfortune. The Valar, the Maiar, the Vanyar and the Teleri could all afford to look askance in their grief but we had lost much more than they.

Our beloved king was slain! The first death by malicious violence in Aman. How could we not avenge that terrible deed! If Morgoth had slain one of the Valar, would not they all have pursued him to Angband, stricken with grief and vengeance in their hearts? What if it were Ingwe our High King or Olwe who were slain? Would it not be the Vanyar or Teleri who now stood here at this very moment, waging war against Morgoth?  
Yet also taken from the Noldor were those hallowed jewels that were the heart and soul of Feanaro's works and cherished above all wealth, being priceless by all accounts. Which of the elvish peoples of Aman would have stood idly by if one of their own master craftsmen were victim to such an outrageous theft? Who of the Amanyar would have endured such an affront to their clan?"

Celegorm paused then and looked upon the elves faces. He could see a growing anger in many a glance and he smiled inside, knowing his words hit the mark.

"So here we are, a guilty people in the eyes of the Powers. We stand this day, charged with disobedience to the wishes of the Valar and are seen as slayers unrepentant of kin. I say yea to that, yet we are seen so because we have sought one thing alone that is due to our people. Justice! We have sought for justice when all others have cowered from the evil of Morgoth. You all must see that ours has ultimately been a just cause though the road to our goal has been grim indeed. No thanks to the faint-hearted Teleri and our old Valinorean masters who forced unnecessary misfortunes upon us in their cowardice.

But no matter! The Feanorrim shall strive against fate for we cannot let the ill of Morgoth go unchallenged. And though some would now say that our fight is misguided as we would face the Sindar, I would say that by his silence does Dior son of Beren refuse our jewel's surrender. Yet he has no claim whatsoever to the Silmaril as it were the deeds of his parents that rescued the jewel from the Iron Crown. But did we not honour well the valour of Beren and Luthien while they yet lived? But if Dior deems the Silmaril to be an heirloom of the house of Singollo, he is truly mistaken!  
We may not at this time have the strength to topple Morgoth from his dark throne to retrieve the jewels that remain on the Iron Crown, but we shall certainly attempt to recover the jewel that resides in the woods of Doriath!"

There was a clash of spears upon shield and many cries of assent from the warriors of the Feanorrim now. It seemed doubt and dismay were a thing of the past.

"Be he Vala, demon of Morgoth, elf, man or any creature good or evil, we shall pursue all with vengeance and hatred to the very ends of the world, who should so hold, take or keep a Silmaril from our possession!  
Remember those words! Let them be etched in your hearts as you look to the task at hand. Not one of you should feel guilty or dismayed for seeking to redress the injustice of theft that rankles our everyday thoughts. Therefore lift up your hearts O soldiers of Feanaro and let not Canafinwe's lament check your conviction. Let his words rather hone your duty to your people and to your fallen lords Finwe, Feanaro and Telufinwe. In this hour we owe the Valar and Teleri nothing! They failed us at the test but woe be to us if we fail ourselves by reneging on the purpose of our Oath."

There arose many cries from the warriors of the Feanorrim in passionate response to Celegorm's words. He chose to end with a few last words.  
"Therefore arise brave warriors of Feanaro! We go not to perpetrate a crime but to end it! Do I hold you all with me in this?

Spears, swords, maces, axes and bows were raised in the cold air by strong hands and there came a great cry in answer. "For lord Finwe we shall fight! For lord Feanaro we shall bleed! For lord Telufinwe we shall prevail! For the Silmaril we go to war!"

Celegorm turned to Maedhros and nodded as his brothers stared at him with admiration. Even Maglor had to acknowledge his brother's gift.  
And so Celegorm came to him. "No one holds what you did yesterday against you. You would say what is in your heart and those sentiments are not yours alone. Yet we are bidden by a fate we cannot deny whether we would or no. Our words of old force us to hold to our vow. And as united as we were in the pledging of our oath, so must we be in the enacting of its decrees. Therefore I would ask that you sound the horn for us to set forth. If you do this our warriors shall be all the more enheartened."

Maglor looked at Celegorm for a moment and nodded his head. "I will not say you are wrong as to our duty to our oath and so I shall do as you bid. As it is written in the tale of the world, so shall it be. Against all wisdom and hope, we go to Doriath with war." He sighed. "Our doom cannot be averted, that I now see."

With that, he went forward and received the great war horn of the Feanorrim from Canyo the head of the knights of Celegorm's household. It was made of ivory, etched with intricate carvings and tipped in gold. Maglor stepped forward until he stood in full view of the masses. They were quiet now but restless as Celegorm's words had stoked their grim passions for war. He looked at them with sad eyes but put the horn to his lips and blew a blast that rang deep yet forlorn; a great cry in silent windless airs. Yet before its echoes had faded, Celegorm strode forward and was swiftly upon his horse Tyelcarocco. The brothers followed suit and soon all sat upon their horses and were stood at the head of each phalanx of their household.

Maedhros it was who lead the army down the sloping road to the plain below. The broad path was lined with women and children yet there was no cheering on their troops. Many stood silent with lowered heads while some gave elvish salutes and others mouthed voiceless farewells to their loved ones. Children at the quiet word of their mothers, cast wintry flowers at the warriors marching feet. The head of the column reached the huge oaken gates of the outer wall that surrounded the hill. The brothers rode out in the manner of eldest to youngest with Maedhros first, followed by Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin and Amrod. Bringing up the rear was Ravenne with the Ohtatyeronissi and behind them came many wains that were filled with the gears of war.

Line after line of warriors marched out and as they trod the open western road, the elves hid their armour by wrapping their grey cloaks about them to become one with the grey pall of the dreary land.  
The women of the Feanorrim nimbly made their ways to the outer wall parapets to watch their men fade into the western distance. Celegorm's words were hot yet now seemed hollow for already the melancholy mood returned to settle over Amon Ereb again. Those that remained hoped all would go their way and their army and lords should return victorious but the cloud of doubt could not be gainsaid in their hearts. Nevertheless they continued to watch until the late morning by which time the army of the Feanorrim had faded into the grey horizon.

Here ends BOOK ONE of THE FALL OF DORIATH

* * *

Author's Commentary:

Well finally the sons of Feanor are on the move. I've tried to bring Celegorm and Ravenne's relationship to a satisfying conclusion but it's a tall order to fully render a love story of many thousands of years in just three chapters. But I've written it as best as I could.  
As for the lament, I can only say that it shall be my first and last attempt at poetry.  
Overall I would say the Sons of Feanor are far more troubled at heart. Feanor wasn't there this time to goad them on with his undeniable presence. They were alone, trying to navigate a fell doom on their own. Even Celegorm who persuaded his brothers to go to war, is a little sick at heart about what he's going to do. Still, I've given their side of the argument, as they might have justified things in their minds.  
I'm writing from a neutral perspective. My goal is not to blatantly judge any side but to give the facts as I see them. I think that's the best way to do this kind of story. Both the Doriathrim and the Feanorrim had their legitimate aims but it was the overall will of Fate that would decide how things should end.  
Anyway, that's it from the Sons of Feanor for now...finally! The next chapter shall take us back to Doriath to see how things are preparing there.

Book Two "THE GATHERING STORM" is coming soon.


	10. An Autumn's Day

**THE FALL OF DORIATH**

BOOK TWO THE GATHERING STORM

**Chapter Ten...  
****"AN AUTUMN'S DAY"**

Dior sat in deep thought within the Sam-uin-Ennin, pondering the state of affairs of his realm. It had been many weeks since Haldir's return and all had gone according to plan with the sons of Feanor. They were wroth with Dior's answer yet had been persuaded to return to their lands and await his final verdict, which he would give them with the coming of summer.  
But Dior was troubled. At first, he and all his lords truly believed that the sons of Feanor were grudgingly placated. Haldir himself had been very clear about this point. The wood elf had no doubt of their sincerity. The two princes had not agreed to Dior's terms with ease and Haldir had barely escaped their wrath with his life. It had been the kind of reaction that seemed genuine for the sons of Feanor. Had Haldir's words been received with ease, that would have roused suspicion against the two princes.

And so the lords of the Doriathrim had sighed their relief as they now had time enough to fortify their realm in earnest. Yet as time went on Dior and a few others pondered upon Haldir's report with growing doubt. Dior had always thought his plan was weak. That the great mind of Curufin would fail to discern the king's ruse was a foolish and dangerous hope. Foolish in underestimating the sons of Feanor, and dangerous in lulling one's vigilance in defending the realm. Indeed, the more Dior thought of what Haldir had reported, the more sinister seemed the princes reactions. Perhaps it were not the ease of acceptance to Dior's terms that should have been seen as a cause for alarm. Rather it was the flawless act of receiving those terms in a manner that conformed to what was expected of a son of Feanor; the legendary pride and seething anger. And yet they had nevertheless ceded to the wishes of their enemy. Dior's deception had worked well...too well!

Dior sighed and shook his head. If this were the case, then matters were far more dire for the Doriathrim than was to be thought. Even now, many of the lords boasted that the sons of Feanor were fooled and would not catch Doriath off guard. That Doriath would be well fortified and protected against any retaliation from the Feanorrim.

"We have the last quarter of autumn and all of winter to prepare," they said. "The dwarves caught us in the throws of grief and confusion, but we have learned from our past mistakes. All the eastern and southern half of our realm shall be fortified and our soldiery shall stand at the ready behind our great defence! Nay, the Feanorrim shall not catch us sleeping!"

Yet the fortifications were far from complete, with many leagues still to be laid in defence. Doriath's soldiery had been working without haste, lulled by the reassurances of their lords that there would be time enough to complete their task. Yet Dior himself saw that he was at fault, withholding his growing doubts by ceding to the unheeding wishes of others. And even if he were wrong, would it not be better to drive his army into relentless labour in a bid to swiftly secure their borders.

The king rose from his seat and paced about his chamber. After a thoughtful while he came to stand before the tapestry of Thingol and Melian as they were stood before their people. There was Thingol, Elwe Singollo, stood in all his glory, majesty and wisdom before his people, many of whom still lived and now looked to Dior for their safety and wellbeing. He looked to the ancient king with questioning eyes. What would his grandsire have done in his place?

There came a knock at the door. "Come," said the king.

Authir entered. "It is lord Haradion, sire."

Dior gave a nod and his old friend entered as Authir closed the door behind him.

"My lord," said Haradion as he bowed his head. Dior returned his greeting with a faint smile. They looked at each other for a moment in discerning silence. The fathoming eyes of one staring into the troubled glance of the other.

"I see your unquiet grows deeper as the days go by," said Haradion.

Dior turned away. "Must a king have a lord who discerns his thought and mood so well?" he said as he returned to his seat.

Haradion smiled and sat himself down. "A lord...perhaps not. Yet a dear friend, doubly so."

Dior looked at him a moment, then he smiled. "And a wise friend at that," he said.

"You flatter me son of Beren!" said Haradion with a laugh. "But nay, this is no time for jests as you are indeed troubled in mind. And I suspect I know what concerns you for I am also disquietened."

Dior gave him a solemn nod. "The days go by Haradion, bringing us closer to an appointed hour of doom. And here we are, the elves of two mighty kindreds, seeking to outwit each other for a portion of the ancient light of Telperion and Laurelin. And behind our scheming lies the threat of war, the like of which would bring Manwe himself great sorrow and grief as the elder Children of Iluvatar should forget themselves and again raise their swords against each other in the most grievous of battles."

Dior leaned forward and grasped his friend's hand. His grey eyes flamed in their intensity. "Haradion, how can I not be troubled by this? How can I not ask myself day and night how _this_ could be for the Doriathrim as well as the Feanorrim. Have the elves not suffered enough through the malice of Morgoth, that we should turn against each other and inflict more sorrow and grief upon ourselves over the spoils of our unfathomable victory over the enemy! How Morgoth should laugh upon his dark throne, deeming the loss of the Silmaril was but a good thing as it would lessen his foes with no cost to him!"

"And yet we are _"in the right"_ as you well know," said Haradion. "The deeds of Feanaro and his sons are yet to be absolved and their claim over the Silmaril is still void. For all their conquest of war against Morgoth, the jewel was ordained to be rescued by one of the race of Men and of the Sindar. The Noldor were denied that honour for a reason! I know you discern the value of that point for in it is the wisdom of The One. It was his will that made its rescue so, and it is his will that we of Doriath should protect the jewel, no matter the dire consequence to us or to the Feanorrim."

Dior bowed his head and sighed. "I know it," he said after a pondering silence, "and I understand it, yet as king of a thriving realm I find it hard to accept it!" He turned back to the Silvan lord. "I fear for us Haradion." he said. "I fear for the outcome of our inevitable confrontation with the sons of Feanaro. Even now my heart tells me they have the advantage, and that the doom of Doriath draws near."

"I understand your fear," said Haradion. "For I too am troubled by the same portent, as is lord Pinadar. Yet all word from my people has been good. The Feanorrim who live among them have given the Silvan elves no reason to be suspicious. No muster has been called, though my kin have been barred from crossing the Gelion to observe the doings upon Amon Ereb."

"And all our scouts have been discovered before they could observe the Hill," said Dior.

"Indeed," Haradion agreed.

"And yet there lies my doubt," said Dior. "For not a single elf of the Feanorrim has been reported to be found spying upon our borders. They adhere to my terms with servile obedience. It is not like the sons of Feanaro to be so, and certainly not when a very Silmaril is in dispute."

"But what more can we do?" asked Haradion.

The king rose and walked over to the great tapestry that depicted Thingol and his queen standing before their people. "We are already upon the threshold of winter," Dior replied after a moments reflection, "and our fortifications are but a few miles past the inflow of the Celon into the Aros. We must double our efforts to reach Aelin Uial and close our borders that look to the Andram before the last quarter of winter."

"That would be a tall order my lord," said Haradion, "for many leagues still lie ahead. Even were the Doriathrim driven to work night and day, they would not achieve your goal."

"Then let them do what they can manage," replied Dior.

Haradion nodded to his king. "And perhaps we can bolster our watching eyes to the south."

"Nay," Dior replied. "We have not the men to spare. Our walls and forts of defence must be of greater priority to us at this time."

Haradion stood and bowed. "Then I shall take my leave my lord, and relay your command."

"A command you do not fully agree with," said Dior, noting his friend's faintly troubled expression.

Haradion smiled. "My role is to advise you my lord, not to gainsay your commands. You are my king whose wisdom and will I set above all else."

"And I pray my wisdom and will are worthy of the honour," said Dior.

Haradion nodded and made his way to the door, but as he set his hand upon its wreathed handle he paused and turned back. "Of all the offspring ever birthed in Middle-earth, you are the greatest. The blood of the three great kindreds resides in you as does the unfathomable favour of Iluvatar himself. Whatever may betide hereafter, I have no fear that you shall lead us to utter ruin. Nay, not though the thousand caves of Menegroth be left empty and bereft of all its peoples. You are the Free Peoples scion of hope and your will and purpose shall not ultimately fail. I can assure you that the sons of Feanaro will never lay their hands upon the Silmaril that was rescued by Beren and Luthien!"

With that, he opened the door and passed out of the chamber.

~oOo~

"Hurry Lenwen!" called Elurin as he scampered across the great bridge of Menegroth. "And you too Elured. Do you not want to see her?"

Lenwen and Elured passed under the shadows of the stony threshold of Menegroth into the wintry sunlight, walking hand in hand. Behind them came the princes guard, two tall elves named Maenon and Inthan.

"Do not go too far ahead Elurin!" Lenwen countered. "You will see her soon enough."

She turned then to the company of guards that stood beside the oaken gates and bowed to them. Elured followed suit, bringing warm smiles to the soldiers faces as they returned his courtesy.

"It has been long since you were above ground, Saelcund," said one of them.

"It has Warden Candir," replied Elured with childlike solemnity that broadened the elderly grins before him. "Alas, much that my brother and I would enjoy is denied, for our strict nurses watch over us with coddling vigilance." He cast a meaningful glance at Lenwen who scowled at him in return.

"And is that to be wondered at?" she said sharply as her eyes followed the receding high pitched pleas of Elurin. There he was, already on the far bank and flying with gleeful abandon up the greensward towards the leaf shedding alders. "See what happens when we set you loose!"  
The guards burst into merry laughter.

"Elurin!" she cried in her annoyance.

"Fear not my lady," said Inthan as he and Maenon strode forward. "We will be with him."

With that they leapt away, sweeping towards Elurin's fading calls with protective purpose. The guards laughed again as they watched the chase commence.

"So it has always been with Baranauth," said Candir. "Ever eager in thought and deed."

"And in mischief!" said Lenwen with a snort.

"Now come," said another guard. "Forgive the boy as he seeks one he has sourly missed. And she has missed him too...both of them. For many days we have noted her watching the oaken doors from across the river in the forlorn hope that her two little friends should be released from their captivity to come out and play."

"Do not mistake me Barathor as I do not begrudge them this friendship," replied Lenwen. "Yet these are days of mounting doubt for all who live in Doriath and the forests are not as safe as they once seemed. To have Elured and Elurin wander the pathless wilds with but a maiden and a pair of guards to mind them is not at all to my liking."

"Needless is your concern," said Candir. "The vigilant eyes of Doriath's soldiery are ever present to protect them. Of that you can be assured."

"Well that is yet to be seen," sniffed Lenwen as she straightened with a raised brow. "But I suppose I will have to trust you all to see to your duty."

"And yet I do not think you can be trusted to see to yours!" cried Elured as he tugged at Lenwen's hand, ignoring her incredulous stare. "For as I recall you were bidden to escort me and my brother to a merry meeting with our friend. Yet here we stand in tiresome conversation with the guards of the gates. Come Lenwen, let us go."

With that, the young prince dragged his nurse away to the raucous laughter of the soldiers.  
"O Manwe save me from this princely cheek!" wailed Lenwen as they passed over the bridge. Soon they came to the broad highway that led away northward. "Now where is your truant brother?" fumed Lenwen as they looked about them.

The road stood empty and all was quiet save for the low rustle of the meagre leaves that were still tethered to the bowing trees. Elured's wide eyes looked this way and that as his ears pricked up in their effort to catch any revealing sounds. Lenwen was about to call out when the young prince gave a cry of excitement.

"There!" he exclaimed, pointing at the trees to the left of them. "There is laughter in the meadow beyond. Let us go!"

Elured led his nurse forward, passing through the thinning foliage until they emerged out into a rolling meadow of open grass that was littered with nodding daisies. There was Elurin, clasped in the arms of a laughing maiden. She nimbly spun in place upon twirling bare feet. Her face was young, fair and merry and her unbraided golden hair swept with wavy abandon in the kind airs. Suddenly she halted with graceful ease as she noted the newcomers. She kissed Elurin's brow, set him down and gazed at Elured expectantly. The young prince looked up at Lenwen who nodded her assent to him. With that, Elured sprang forward and ran straight into the maiden's waiting arms. Lenwen smiled to herself and turned to see Maenon and Inthan who were stood within the shadows of the bordering trees, unintrusive in their vigilance.

"Watch over them," she said softly to the two guards who both nodded in return. She gave a last glance at the joyful reunion and sighed.  
_"Warm friendships between gentle sweethearts should not be denied by cold counsel,"_ she thought, being moved by the heartfelt scene. She began to make her way back to Menegroth and silently pledged to give the princes more time than was allocated to spend with their dear friend.

The maiden released Elured from her embrace and clasped his beaming face between the soft palms of her hands. "It has been too long Saelcund," she said as she kissed his brow.

"Yes it has dearest Nellas," replied Elured.

~oOo~

The Hall of Awakening stood shrouded in a silence of meditative peace, save for the occasional drops of falling crystalline orbs that were loosed from coiling cones of moist stone that hung from the domed ceiling, and fell through the airs to meet still waters in dissipating rings of wavering evidence. There were no lamps or torches in the hall as it were lit by a multitude of glowing gems embossed in the ceiling in the form of the constellations of the stars. Flaming rubies glittered as Borgil and Carnil. Sea blue sapphires pulsed as Luinil and Helluin. Silver diamonds flashed as Elemmire, Nenar and Wilwarin. And spread wide in a glorious cacophony of twinkling light were the many coloured gems of Menelvagor, Remmirath and Valacirca.

Their wondrous dazzle was reflected beneath them by the dark waters of a deep cold lake that took up three quarters of the long cave. White sands that had been lain by the elves bordered its western edge where the arched entrance to the cave stood. Here were many carven benches and seats, set about the dim shore for the Doriathrim to sit in quiet contemplation of their ancient beginnings. And so lord Pinadar sat there as he loved to do. He was alone in his favourite hall and all knew that if he could not be found elsewhere, he was sure to be found here. This and the Hall of the Two Lamps that stood across from it had been a great wish of Thingol in their making. Timeless halls that represented the era of beginnings.

Pinadar sighed. He was filled with great melancholy at the thought. Here he spent his time, surrounded by a visual memory of the elvish birthplace whilst the doom of Doriath crept ever nearer to his land. He felt this in the air, the wind and in his heart. The elves had indeed fallen low from those times of high hope and wonder to the here and now, teetering upon the brink of evil war.  
The Hall of Awakening had always been Pinadar's inner sanctuary, a place to ponder on what it was to be an elf, as well as their role and place in the world. And long had he been content as his inner sanctuary was protected by the archaic outer realm that was Doriath, itself protected from the trammels of without by the Girdle of Melian. But that protective enchantment had been stripped away and the chill from outside could be felt even here in the hallowed depths of Menegroth.

Could Doriath survive yet another assault to its existence, or would Thingol and Melian's island be drowned by the waves and tidal flows of grim change. The Doriathrim under their mighty king and queen had always sought to uphold the culture of elves that should have been, had they been left to grow and thrive from Cuivienen without the changes brought about by the Valar and the blemish of Morgoth. It had been a most noble notion but ultimately doomed to fail. The perpetual storm that raged about Doriath was bound to find an inlet in the end and it did in the form of the Silmaril, that jewel whose doom was a strange concoction of glory and heavy darkness.  
_"Now is Doriath drawn into the fate of a mightier realm,"_ were the wise words of Melian the Maiar.

Pinadar looked about the hall with sad eyes. "As always, you were right my queen," he said to himself. "Alas, a power greater than yours came knocking at our door, for good and for ill. It was through no fault of ours as it was fated to be so."  
The old elf sighed again and bowed his silvery head. Dior's attempt to raise again the glory of the ancient realm was honourable but the damage had been done. Things would never be the same for Doriath. Its noontide and glory had come and gone and it was but a matter of time before the realm was extinguished forever. Pinadar frowned a little at the black thought, but it were better that he face the truth. He was just an old elf holding onto a bygone era of ancient hopes and dreams.  
"It matters not," he said softly to himself as he set his eyes upon the still waters that glittered before him. "I was born by the birth-waters, and I shall die by them."

~oOo~

A fair gathering of maidens sat at their ease inside the spacious grotto that looked to the ornamental garden within the Menelrond. It was lavishly furnished for comfort, and softly lit by candles of scented wax. Sheltered walkways, formed of intricately carved vines and creeping plants led away from it to branching intersections where gushing fountains sprouted their silvery falls. A minstrel was softly playing by the nearest marble basin, captivating his attentive audience with heart-breaking skill. But the women who sat inside the grotto paid him no attention, for they had more pressing matters to discuss.

"Must you be so tongue tied when you speak of him Morfinneth?" said Barawen, to the grins and soft laughter of the other women who sat there. "The part of timid blushing maiden may be attractive to some, but not to his sort I think. The men of the Golodhrim are stern and proud as are their women. Perhaps you could learn more from Oriel here as she is of their kind."

"Do not listen to her Morfinneth," said Oriel, shaking her head. "Our Noldorin men are not only moved by what Barawen says. They can love both the dainty and the severe."

"Comforting," returned Barawen, "but not entirely true. At least not according to what my husband tells me."

"And what has your Golodhrim lord told you?" asked Morfinneth. "That he and his kin prefer women who hold themselves as proud warrior queens who delight in plain talk and hardihood, and slight gentle displays of affection and loving thought?"

Barawen smiled. "You have said it."

"Then you know little of the women of the Noldor and their men, though you have dwelt with us for a time and are wed to one yourself," said Oriel, garnering more laughter from the audience.

Barawen stiffened at that. "You shall no doubt enlighten me," she simmered softly.

"Perhaps I shall," replied Oriel. "For as true as that might have been with us long ago when we first settled upon these shores and the fires of our spirits still flamed with ripe purpose, grief and sorrow have tamed us at last. The Noldor through necessity became a war-like people of stern warriors and grave women, but our pride has been curbed by our defeats. However, we have mercifully learned to enjoy and appreciate the gentler things in life as we did aforetime in Aman. And nowhere else has our melancholy for ease and peace been more apparent to us than here in Doriath. Within the Girdle our grim lords were no longer hounded by the policies of bitter war, and our women ceased the airs and graces of a haughtiness which sought to complement their brazen men in stature and thought."

"And yet the Girdle of peace you found here is no more," said Barawen. "Surely the forgotten haughtiness of the Golodhrim is needed all the more to steel us, now that we face the threat of war."

"Maybe," Oriel replied. "But we are a changed people now who yearn to indulge in simple pleasures." She turned to Morfinneth. "Therefore be yourself to your chosen lord, gentle-heart. For I have noted his regard for you and believe me, he is content with what he sees. You need not change for him as you are wanted just the way you are."

"That was well said," uttered a voice. The ladies turned to it and all stood and bowed.

"Forgive us my queen," said Oriel, "for we heard not your approach."

"Ah!" said Nimloth with a dismissing wave of her hand. "Must you all be so formal with me?" She smiled warmly. "Even queens lose their stateliness when the important subject of love is discussed among their maidens." The women all lowered their heads and gave shy grins.  
"Please sit," said the queen. The ladies complied and arranged themselves back into their places. "I gather we are to lose another of our maidens to one of the Golodhrim," Nimloth continued. The ladies looked at each other with nervous surprise.

"Nay my lady," said Morfinneth after an uncomfortable silence. "Barawen was only making fun of me."

"Do not lie to the queen," returned Barawen. "We all know of the feelings you have for your paragon, and I was merely giving you sound advice on how to gain his favour..."

"Upon which Oriel sought to give her own view of things," finished the queen.

Oriel opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it. The Doriathrim losing maidens to the Noldor observation made her think twice about adding to it. But the queen smiled knowingly at her hesitation.  
"Worry not," said Nimloth, directing Oriel a reassuring grin. "I am not opposed to the joining of our kindreds through love and marriage. Indeed I welcome it. However, Barawen has raised a point that interests me." The queen paused and motioned to the centre of the gathering where the ladies made room for her. "War is a terrible thing," Nimloth continued as she sat down, "and grief and loss are not all it leaves in its wake. It hardens soft hearts and darkens fair souls through their grim need to cope with its toll. Men become stern and brazen warriors with proud women at their sides."

The queen's sharp glance strayed about her, surveying her attentive audience. The lyre's soft notes came faintly to them from a faded background.  
"I remember how we of the Doriathrim used to look askance at our Golodhrim brethren, deeming them to be over-proud upstarts, revelling in their great war. And they no doubt saw us as timid underlings who cowered behind their queen's power." Nimloth sighed. "Perhaps we were both right in our disrespect of each other. And yet only now am I beginning to see the merits of both our ways. For the Sindar adhered to the archaic ways that elves followed before the Dark Lord returned. And our culture of living so was protected by a girdle of enchantment. Could we be blamed for upholding our values that dictated a life of unbounded peace? Is that not the right of all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth?

And yet the Golodhrim could not be so wanton in their pursuit of joy and delight. They lived in the surrounding wilderness, with ever the lurking dangers of Morgoth near at hand. They indeed strove for peace yet it was watchful all the same...until the breaking of the Siege. Thereafter the horrors and terrors from without only came to us as dark tales, as told by those of the Sindar who fled and were admitted to our protected land. Yet could we know how it was to live under the constant threat of death or capture? Could we truly understand the forced hardihoods and tribulations our brethren endured to survive the ensuing years of terror?

We scoffed at the thought of the Golodhrim women who held themselves as their men in being proud warrior queens who fought with swords, spears and bows. For what noble lady of Doriath would debase herself in such a manner. We did not understand the desperation of a beleaguered people. And yet we were all put to utter shame by Luthien Tinuviel, who by the sheer right of her beauty and glory should have had the elvish warriors of all the elven kingdoms set before her in righteous defence ere she caught but a glimpse of the lowliest of Morgoth's servants to taint her blessed sight.

She was the Doriathrim's first warrior queen who went out into the dark world about us, and faced the perils of the enemy. Yet we as women learned nothing from her great deeds. Only as a rousing tale did her desperate courage touch our hearts. However, a test for us would finally come with the lifting of the Girdle and the ensuing dwarven attack. But the women of Doriath did not rise up to defend their homes. Nay, they fled away in fear! It was a mercy that the dwarves did not pursue them. Yet think of the advantages our men might have had, had we fought at their side. Our aid might have turned the tide of battle and lessened the cost of lives we paid in defeat.

Now I know I am not alone in mourning, yet many of my house who perished may have survived had our women been there to swell Doriath's defence. Galathil my father, Galadhon my grandfather, and Elmo, the brother of the king are some whom I lost in that grievous battle. And yet you too have many names of loved ones, now consigned to yearning memory by death. Should it be so again if the sons of Feanaro come with war to Menegroth? Should we as women flee before our enemies or helplessly throw ourselves prostrate before them as we sue for mercy while our men are butchered about us? If donning armour and wielding weapons in a bid to fight for what we love is beneath us, are we then not the ones who should be accused of having airs and graces? And yet to what haughty end if we are to lose all we have cherished and built."

Nimloth sighed and shook her head. She then set her wide gaze to the gathering that had grown since she began to speak. Even the minstrel had ceased playing and now stood among them as his own audience had deserted him. Many a thoughtful glance permeated the thickened crowd as it digested the thoughts of the queen.

"My ladies," Nimloth continued, "Doriath has changed. We can no longer hope to live as we used to behind the generous protection of Melian. We all must do our part to defend our home. We as women must set aside the harp and learn to wield the sword. We must closet our gowns to don fitting armour." She turned to the minstrel and smiled. "And forgive me Curulaer, but our ladies must shun the graceful steps of song and learn the grim dance of battle."

"And who of our women would be willing to fight, my queen?" asked one. "Only a few if any would have a stomach for such grim work."

"You would be surprised Faervanel," replied Nimloth. "As women we are no different from you men in strength of hand, or in our capacities for boldness. The Golodhrim have taught us that. And we love our realm as you love it. Therefore if you are prepared to fight for your family as fathers, then why not Doriath's mothers. And if you are prepared to fight for your children with your sons at your side, then why not Doriath's daughters. Aye, I deem we can stomach just as much as you men. We only have to try."

"And yet would the lords of Doriath assent to such a thing, my queen?" asked another in the crowd. "To have their wives and daughters fight as soldiers!"

"I must admit to you all that this is but a growing notion in my mind and I have yet to broach it with our lords," Nimloth replied. "It may or may not garner their support, yet the sense of it cannot be ignored. A final doom lies before our kingdom and if we are defeated my heart tells me Doriath shall fall too low to ever rise again. The stakes are too high to leave its fate to archaic sentiment. Therefore we all must be prepared to defend our homeland or collectively perish, with but a handful of leaves hopefully spared to be blown away into the houseless wilds."

"But who will teach us to fight if our lords refuse, my queen?" asked Barawen.

The few men who stood there looked at each other with troubled glances that spoke of their unwillingness to break the ancient customs. Many ladies also stood there with downcast eyes, dreading the task put to them by the queen. Could they find it in themselves to take up arms when the time came? Did they have the courage needed, or indeed the skill required? Nimloth looked at their faces and read their doubt. It was truly a desperate notion, yet her unease with Doriath's situation grew each day, forcing her to come up with plans of her own in a bid to quell her rising fears. She thought to say more in support of her words when a voice spoke.

"I will teach you," said Oriel. All heads turned as one to face her. "And my Noldorin sisters will help me."

~oOo~

The wind was thankfully mild and uncharacteristically accommodating to those who walked far below. At its swirling insistence, the cloudy sky parted and let through ragged holes of lofty blue and pale rays of fitful sunshine. Indeed, in comparison to the dreary weeks that had gone before, it was a day of glad weather that demanded a pastime of playful abandon. And so it was with the three playmates who ran, skipped and laughed their merry way through the woods of Neldoreth. They climbed up trees and frolicked in the grass. They hand-fed the forest animals and picnicked in the meadows. They sung to the birds and danced with the deer. It was indeed a glad day of sheer delight for them all.

Soon they came to rest by a little gurgling stream that meandered fitfully through a narrow trough between a low hill and a vaulting green slope that rose to a crowned height of beeches. The two young princes sat upon either side of the fair maiden, who put her slender arms about them and drew them close. They all had their splashing feet in the cold waters, laughing at the silvery froth and darting fish that fled the churning commotion. After a while they sighed their contentment and lay upon their backs, gazing at the passing clouds and smiling when pale rays of sunlight momentarily caressed their faces.

Elurin turned to look at Nellas. Her golden hair was spread upon the green grass as a wavy rich blanket. Her upturned face was a vision of joyful innocence, with wide staring eyes of child-like wonder and rosy lips that parted now and again to a gentle smile.  
"How wonderful it is to be with you again!" said Elurin as he gazed at her. "Seldom have I laughed this much or had such amusement at play."

Nellas turned to him. "That is not good," she said with a soft frown. "A child of your tender age should _always_ be cheerful, finding laughter and delight in all the innocent joys that surround you. For when you grow older they will lose their precious sheen."

"But how is such not yet lost to you who are much older than us?" asked Elurin. "You are still as happy as a merry lass."

"And as delightful as a midsummers day," put in Elured, "with all the joyful pleasures that come with it."

"Why thank you Saelcund," said Nellas as she planted a swift kiss upon his brow. "But I am blessed to be singular in my nature," she added with a grin and a wink.

"But I want to be like you Nellas," said Elurin. "I never want to lose the sense of wonder and innocence of my youth. When I grow older I do not want to become stern like lord Haradion, or grim and sullen like lord Tirithalui, or proud and aloof like lord Tuornen."

Nellas' face darkened at his words and she sat up, staring blankly at the wavering stream and the fish that now languidly swam by. The two princes gave each other questioning glances before sitting up too. Each knew something was amiss.

"Nellas?" came Elurin's tentative plea.

The maiden sighed and smiled half-heartedly at the boy. "Dearest Baranauth," she said softly with a tender hand to his cheek. "You will grow to become a fine man." She turned and laid her other hand upon Elured's fair head. "As will you Saelcund. But know that with maturity comes responsibility, and you two as princes of Doriath shall have more responsibilities than most. In growing up your minds will be drawn to the higher matters of the kingdom, and your child-like regard shall fade away." Nellas sighed again and lowered her eyes. "And perhaps it is not such a bad thing, that."

She then fell silent, looking forlorn and withdrawn as if her words saddened her. But then she looked up at them and spoke with forced joviality.  
"However in support of the lords you mentioned Baranauth, let me say that they are stern, grim and proud in their noble intent to preserve Doriath and its glory from the evils that would destroy it. They look after this land to protect the happiness within. The same happiness we indulge in this very day. That is their duty and responsibility which will be yours one day.

And yet have you witnessed them when they are merrymaking during the Midsummer Festivities? Lord Haradion the Stern is a mighty singer whose songs are of a beauty that induces all to gladly listen. Lord Tirithalui the Sullen skilfully plays the harp, setting all who hear his music to dance with gleeful abandon. And how wonderful is lord Tuornen the Proud when he dances! They too have their innocent pleasures from which one can discern an echo of their child-like wonder and glee. Indeed, I deem they have not altogether forgotten the joys of their youth." Nellas' face darkened again. "Not like he did," she added softly.

"Not like who did?" asked Elured.

But Nellas did not answer as she seemed caught up again in her rapture of melancholy. The wintry rays of the sun dimmed as a persistent band of clouds swept over their meagre radiance, deepening the grey pall over the forest as the airs grew colder. The dip in the weather seemed to rouse Nellas for she abruptly rose and held out her hands.

"Come my princes," she said. "We have tarried long enough. I must return you home."

The trio made their way hand in hand up the steep slope to the beech crowned summit. There they came to the highway that paved a long winding path to the abandoned forts of the north and western marches. The road was littered with fallen leaves of yellow and brown, and not a few dried nuts. The beeches themselves hemmed its grey path for as far as the eye could see and thickened as they marched down the southerly slopes. Nellas and the princes turned eastward and walked awhile in silence. They met none on the road and there was a lonely air about the woods. But Nellas said that the boys should not be fooled as there were hidden outposts in the hills about them where the soldiery of Doriath kept a vigilant watch.

"And do not forget Maenon and Inthan," she said with a grin, "who are skulking in the trees to the left of us in their vain attempt to follow us unseen." They all waved in that direction to the amusement of the two _hidden_ guards, and burst out laughing. After that Nellas' mood seemed to rise again, and they merrily went on.

Now they came to a place where the road began to rise upon a long slope. Far ahead at the crest of the slope was that point where the main highway that led to the great bridge intersected with the road they were on, which led on down to the second bridge that spanned the Esgalduin to the north of the stony hill. At the slopes mid-point stood a beech that was taller than the rest. It could easily be seen, towering over the road and its brethren. On previous excursions the boys had pleaded with Nellas that they be allowed to climb it and take in the wide view it supposedly gave of the lowland meadows and valleys of Neldoreth. Nellas however had constantly refused them, and always gave that section of the road a wide berth, preferring to cut through the open meadow to the right so as to reach the highway where it curved towards the great bridge.

Elured had wondered why she always denied them for they indeed climbed many a tree with her and sat in the high branches with the scampering squirrels and nesting birds. It were as though she avoided that place and that tree. She would always take their hands when they protested and almost flee with them to the meadow with her head turned away from the slope as if it were a place of dread. And so he now stood, looking thoughtfully at the distant tree with its many long branches and crowded leafy cover that still denied the autumn winds their flight. Nellas and Elurin had already left the road as they made their way to the meadow beyond. They were laughing at an amusing tale she now told about the prickly meeting between a hungry fox and a protesting hedgehog that she had once witnessed.

Suddenly Nellas halted, turned to Elured and gave a glance to where the prince's gaze was turned. She then called to him. "Now hurry Elured or you will be left behind!"

The young prince however did not move. "Tell me why you are afraid of that tree Nellas," he replied, with his gaze still fixed upon the mysterious beech.

"I am not afraid of any tree," she replied a little irritably. "Now come for we have spent more time away than was given us. I for one do not relish the stinging reprimand I shall receive from Lenwen your nurse if we delay any further."

Elured bowed his head and gave a little sigh. He then turned to Nellas and saw a mounting distress in her fair face. His young brow creased a little with thoughtful concern and he came towards her with an outstretched arm to clasp her hand in his. But as she turned to go he pulled her back.

"Nellas," he said. "We are all dearest friends and when something is amiss with any of us it must be shared and the stricken consoled."

"All that is amiss here is your delay," she returned with rare heat. "I do not choose to go that way because it is the longer route to Menegroth from where we stand that can be halved if we go through the meadow. And I would not have you climb so tall a tree for the simple reason of your safety. Those are my reasons, now heed my will and let us go!" She turned away but was still held back. "Oh Elured what confounded obstinacy has come over you this day!" she cried.

Elurin now looked up at Nellas and saw her wavering eyes and caught the glistening rumour of tears. His beautiful face darkened a tint and he turned to his brother. "Stop this harassment at once Elured!" he cried. "We have had a blessed time today that you should ruin it at the end. Apologise to her at once and let us get on."

Elured brought Nellas' hand to his lips, kissed it and then held it to his cheek. "I do apologise to you Nellas," he said. "I apologise for whatever old grief ails your sweet heart and I apologise for not seeking to console you sooner. But I cannot do so if I do not understand your sorrow. What happened in your past that cast such a shadow over so merry a maiden? Please Nellas, tell me and make us understand so that we might heal you of your pain. For of all the elves who dwell in Doriath, you deserve such agonies the least."

Nellas stared at the young prince for a moment. Elured could feel her hand tremble as she vied pitifully with her roused grief. Her glistening grey eyes brimmed and mournfully loosed their sad tears. She bowed her head as she sobbed and both princes drew close and clasped their arms tightly about her. A brisk wind swept by, plucking a shower of fluttering gold from the nodding branches of the surrounding trees that creaked and groaned their complaint. The leaf strewn forest floor was riled by the breeze to reveal hunched hedgehogs and lumbering badgers feasting on their woodland delights, the snails, the millipedes and the woodlice. Squirrels raced down the smooth grey bark of the tree trunks and leapt to the ground to forage upon a newly revealed vista of brown nuts. A wren emerged from its domed nest near the roots of a nearby beech. The mound of dried yellowish leaves that had aided in the cover of his doorstep were blown away and the bird gave an offended cry.

The noise startled the trio who turned to see the indignant wren give its quivering tail to the world and disappear back into the recesses of its home. Rays of sunlight shone down from the heavens and coloured the woodlands with warmth as the doleful autumn clouds above, parted. Nellas ceased her sobbing, wiped her teary eyes and gazed at the bright teeming woodland floor. It seemed for a moment that even nature would do its part to console her. She smiled and looked down at the two boys who were grinning back at her. She knew then that she would be alright.

"Very well," she said softly with a nod. "I will take you to the Forsaken Tree."

~oOo~

The oaks rose high above the grasslands that spread before them. Rank after rank of hoary sentinels whose huge grey knobbly ridged trunks and thick crooked limbs spoke of an ancient growth that stood immutable to the changes of time. Their towering fathers dwelt in the nearby forest of Nivrim, and they had been seeded by the elves to be a vast bastion of nature that was reared along Doriath's southerly border to give the realm the vaulting protection that the smaller holly trees of Region never could. Aforetime, when the Girdle of Melian was in place, the oaks had been shrouded in a mysterious mist that had served to pronounce their epic stature. The sight of the giant trees eerily entwined limbs that clasped at one another with strangling purpose; the vision of their crusty bark that was akin to the indented hide of a wood-demon; the sinister rustle of their bristling leaves that whispered dark threats to the winds, all shrouded within the coiling vapours of enchantment was determent enough for those who thought to enter unbidden. And even though the mists had long since dispersed with the lifting of the Girdle, their impregnable stature remained.

In one of these giants, among the twisted thickness of the branches that crowned its height, peered sharp eyes that surveyed the flowing river and the grasslands that lay before them. Four elves sat upon a wooden platform that was built around the tapering bole of the oak. They were watchers, guarding their designated area with ceaseless vigilance. The oak had shed many a fallen leaf and much of it was bare, yet the elves were brown clad and donned in cloaks of grey that made them hard to discern. They spoke to each in soft tones, discussing the small matters of their lives and duties, as well as the larger matters of the realm and its present predicament.

"How many days has it been?" asked one.

"Too many for me," replied another. "I miss my wife and daughters. And I long for my newborn son whom I left in the cradle."

"And longer shall you yearn for them, Durthor," said a third. "For I doubt there shall be a change of guard for us any time soon."

"Aye," said the first. "Most of Doriath's soldiery labour to the east in their effort to reach us. There are hardly any men to spare."

"Truly so, Meldir," said Durthor. "And I know I am not the only soldier guarding our borders who is sundered from his family, many of whom may complain less." He sniffed the air and gave a sour look. "But I am unsettled by this strange pestilence of black rot that oozes beneath the trees and fouls the airs. I would rather have been assigned to guard the wholesome halls of Menegroth than these diseased borders."

"It is a malady that is the harbinger of the evil to come," said the third with a dark look upon his face.

"You have always taken a grim view of things, Himon," said Meldir. "But I do not think the sons of Feanaro will come to Doriath with war."

"How I wish you could tell that to the dead of Alqualonde," Himon returned.

"But that is ancient history," countered Meldir. "Surely the sons of Feanaro are tamed by the Curse they brought upon themselves for those wicked deeds. They would not seek to further compound its fell doom upon their people."

"Would they not?" asked the forth. He was seated apart from the others, staring into the grey overcast skies. The others all turned to him.

"No, Hinluin." said Meldir. "I do not think they would, but you certainly think otherwise. Yet I am interested in your opinion as you are of the Golodhrim and know them well."

Hinluin rose and went to the very edge of the platform where he leaned against a sturdy bough. "Perhaps I do," he said as he gazed southward. "At least when it comes to the Silmarils. And so should all who see the Noldor in Middle-earth. For Feanaro and his sons upped and left the glorious land of Aman for those jewels, and dragged the Noldor with them through sheer force of will. They had us defy the warnings of the Valar and ignore the terrible Curse that would doom our enterprise. Such was the strength of their intent! And if they could engage in a war with the mightiest of the Valar then what of the Doriathrim. Have they not slain their fellow elves before? Yea, I understand them well, and know that they will stop at nothing to regain the Silmaril."

"But surely time and experience may alter embedded counsels," said Meldir with hope.

"Maybe, but not theirs," replied Hinluin. "No vast amount of time or grim experience can alter the vow they took. The Oath is what drives them and it shall inform all their counsels until its fulfilment." A chill hissing wind invaded the oaks from the south and Hinluin peered again at the gloomy skies.

"I had hoped we might be spared of this feared atrocity," said Meldir, raising his hood over his head. "but perhaps that was wishful thinking on my part."

"It was," said Himon. "But thank Hinluin, for to be schooled thus is to be better prepared for when the sons of Feanaro come."

"Yet that preparation may be vain with me," said Meldir, "as I am filled with dread. For with the orc there is no shame in the slaying. It was hard with the dwarves but I managed it. However, slaying others of the Eldar! I do not think I have the heart for it, be he my enemy or no.

"Then find a good enough reason to fight!" said Himon with heat. "There is vengeance for our slain kin of Alqualonde."

"And protecting your realm and your loved ones," put in Durthor.

"Or defending yourself with the sheer effort to survive," said Hinluin. "That is as good a reason as any."

Meldir was a little surprised at the collective conviction of the others. He had not thought them to be so ready for a conflict with the Feanorrim. But then again, he realised the sense of it. If he did not fight he would be a victim, and he did not want to die.

Himon put his hand upon Meldir's shoulder as he eyed him intently. "Are those reasons enough my friend," he said.

Meldir sighed and conceded. "I reckon so," he replied. He then looked up at Hinluin who had bowed his head to the branch in a pose of weariness or stress. "It must be difficult for you and your folk, Hinluin." he said. "For the Feanorrim are your kin."

Hinluin raised his head and to Meldir's surprise, the Noldorin elf was smiling. "We are prepared to defend our home from whosoever would seek to destroy it, even those of our brethren. But as for me, my reasons to fight are not of self preservation only. I too have loved ones of both the Noldor and Sindar whom I would protect."

"You have not spoken of your family to us yet," said Durthor. "Or of your wife and children."

"My family was slain in Nargothrond," replied Hirluin with sadness. "However I have no wife or children, though a maiden has caught my eye."

The others grinned at that. "And who is this dark haired beauty of the Golodhrim who demands your attention?" asked Himon.

"She is of the Doriathrim," replied Hinluin with unseeing eyes that beheld gentle visions of whom he thought. "And her hair is as golden as the tall wheat fields that sway in the pastures of Yavanna." A warmth came over his face as he spoke and the others turned to each other and shook their heads in soft laughter.

"And does this nymph of an elf have a name?" asked Meldir.

Hinluin looked at his comrades. "Of course she does. Her name is Morfinneth."

~oOo~

Nellas and the two princes stood before the Forsaken Tree, staring up at its tall height. Its long, slender light-grey trunk rose one hundred and fifty feet to a large and widely spreading crown. Its lower branches were long and reached outward, but the arms in the upper airs became erect as if they would hold up the sky. The tree still had many autumn leaves of yellow and brown that hung limp upon crooked twigs. It was indeed very tall but no different from the rest. The princes wondered what was so unique about it that would cause such disquiet to Nellas.

She herself stood before it with eyes that held a great sadness. Her mournful gaze lingered upon the smooth grey bark near the tree's base and the numerous etchings scrawled upon it by nature. Nellas let go of the princes hands and approached the tree with tentative steps, putting out a trembling hand to touch it with her finger tips and slide them along the bark as she circled the ten foot wide bole. She then halted and looked up to its grand height.

"It is long since I last stood so near," she said to it, "and you have changed little in my absence. But now I would ask that you forgive our parting, as the grief of memory was too much to bear."

The princes glanced at each other questioningly. "What grief is this Nellas?" asked Elured.

She gave a sigh and patted the tree's bole. "I knew a boy once," she began. "He was not much older than you two when I first came to know him." She turned and sat herself down by the huge roots and beckoned to the princes.

The boys came forward and sat themselves down beside her. "Who is this boy you speak of?" asked Elurin. "Do we know of him?"

"I would think so," replied Nellas. "For he came to be known by all the elves and men of Beleriand. Upon the west-marches of Doriath he was called the Dragon-helm. As an outlaw in the woods south of Teiglin he was named Neithan. In the lands of Dor-Cúarthol about the hill of Amon Rudh he was known as Gorthol. There in the halls of Nargothrond he was both Agarwaen and Mormegil. And finally in the woods of Brethil he went by the name Turambar. But the name given to him by his mother and father was Turin, who was the son of Hurin and Morwen."

The princes both gasped and stared at Nellas with wide eyes of surprise. "You knew the great hero Turin?" exclaimed Elurin.

Nellas laughed. "Of course Baranauth. It was I who reared him in his youth here in Doriath. I taught him our speech and gave him the names of our trees and flowers. I introduced him to the forest animals and we went birds-nesting in the trees." She smiled then at the memories. "I gave Turin much joy and laughter that came seldom to him, and for a little while he was content."

The princes turned to each other and shook their heads with mouths still agape in amazement. "But how is it that naught is known of the woman who raised the mighty Bane of Glaurunga?" said Elured. "Turin is honoured by all, and many are the stories we have heard of his heroic deeds. But that you had a part in the history of his life is news indeed!"

Nellas' smile faded. "It was a small part that was not known to many," she said with rising sadness, "and I was just as easily forgotten." She sighed and set a rubbing hand to her breast as if to ease some heartfelt pain that now arose in her. She then looked up at the towering beech and the sun's westering rays shone through, lacing the canopy with bright crimson and gold.

"This was our favourite tree," she continued. "Always we used to climb it and peer out of its leaves to survey the lands about. It was here that Turin first beheld the warriors of the west and northern marches, as they took the road to their lodges. He would climb down and speak long with them, asking all he could of their deeds. And as time went by he asked to come here more often, and would climb as high as I would let him and stare with longing away to the north."

Nellas rose and circled the tree to where it faced the road. There she halted and gazed at the silver trunk with fingers that traced a pattern of etchings. "There came a day when we stood on this very spot," she said. "A company had just passed us and he had spoken with his friend who was Beleg Strongbow. And as we watched them fade into the distance I looked at him and saw the light in his eyes. I knew then that I would soon lose him to his mounting desire. But he looked up at me and took my hand.

'One day Nellas', he said. 'One day I shall join Beleg and the marchwardens and do great deeds in the service of Doriath.'

'Perhaps you will,' I replied. 'Yet I shall be grieved, for you shall soon forget me and all the days of our joyful play together.'

'Nay!' he cried. 'Never shall I forget you Nellas. Of all who dwell in Doriath you are most dear to me. When I grow up and am of the age to serve, I shall protect the borders of this land with you in mind. My sword, spear and bow shall be for your service, to keep you safe. And whenever I return to Menegroth after months of duty I shall seek you out and relate to you my adventures. Then shall you look upon me with pride that you helped rear a worthy foster-son to the king.'

I took him then in my arms and tearfully kissed his head for I was overcome with both sadness and joy. And when he saw my glistening eyes he stooped and picked up a sharp stone. He then went to the tree and began to etch marks upon its bark. 'Nay!' I cried, 'Do not wound the poor beech Turin.' But even as I took his hand away he smiled and showed me what he had written."

Nellas beckoned to the princes who rose and came to her. There they looked to where she pointed and saw that etched upon the grey bark were the initials T & N, as written in the runes of Doriath.

"These are the very letters Turin wrote?!" gasped Elurin.

"Indeed they are," replied Nellas. "And in etching them he turned to me and said, 'I write these letters upon this tree as a memorial and a pledge. A memorial to our most favoured place in the forest of Neldoreth, and as a pledge to our friendship that shall never fade as long as I shall live.'

At that Nellas seemed to falter, as if some great anguish now arose that bent her with grief. The concerned princes aided her as they sat down by the side of the road. The sky had clouded over again and the light of day was fading. Even Maenon and Inthan who watched all from the shadows across the road, grew uneasy, for the time spent away from Menegroth had by now far exceeded what had been allocated. If they stayed out for much longer, search parties were sure to be sent out. Yet they saw that the trio were engaged in something important to them that needed no interruption. So they continued to watch in silence.

Nellas sat there with welling tears in her eyes and a pitiful anguish in her face. The princes spoke softly to her with soothing words and tender gestures, and she clasped at them with trembling hands in her effort to steady her grief. She then shook her golden head. "I am sorry my dear princes," she said through her grievous sobbing. "Sorry and ashamed for you to see me so."

"Nay Nellas dear," said Elured. "This is the sharing I spoke of and we but console you who are stricken. And I am beginning to understand your grief, for I think your love for Turin grew into something much greater, but he failed you in some way. Do I not strike near the truth?"

The maiden stared at Elured for a moment and through her tearful face rose a smile. "Saelcund you are indeed named," she said. "For you are already much wiser than most, and that is a wonder for one of your tender age." She passed a hand over her eyes to wipe away her tears, and cupped the prince's face in her hands and kissed him on both cheeks. "Yes Elured," she said. "I loved Turin son of Hurin, but he only grew to forget me. Indeed he joined the marchwardens when he was able, but I seldom saw him after that. At such times as he returned from the far borders, he would pass this tree with not even a glance to it. And as I sat up in the high reaching branches, watching him walk by, I would weep sorrowfully and remember our joyful time together, and that day when he made his pledge.

But still I ever held onto hope! Hope that one day I would see him pass by and suddenly he would stop and look at the tree. I hoped to see his face brighten with a memory long forgotten that suddenly springs to light, compelling him to approach the silver bole to stand before the etching he had written upon it long ago. And looking up to the heights he would call out my name, whereupon I would come to him, and after a merry meeting he would tell me of all the adventures he had and of his deeds. And in the renewing of our friendship he would never forget it, who had aforetime. And through love's grace I would gain my heart's desire as he would in time look upon me as a man to a woman, whom he would share his life with.

Yet that did not come to pass as what did was much darker. For indeed there came a day when I saw him from the heights as he passed beneath me, walking with haste upon the road to the west-marches. And stop he did, but not to regard the tree in the realisation of a former joy he once had. Nay! Instinct had halted him, and the grave understanding of a dire peril that now assailed him. For to my horror an elf lord named Saeros attacked him from behind, and they fought before my very eyes until Turin bested him. Thereafter he chased Saeros away, both passing northward into the woods on the other side of the road. But I could not follow for I was wracked with sorrow and grief, and could only weep my concern for him."

Nellas rose again and stood upon the grey road, gazing westward with eyes that beheld the sorrows of the past. A chill wind now blew from the east setting her hair and dress to stream forward in its wake as the leaves upon the littered ground took flight and the boughs of the trees creaked and groaned in their nodding.  
"That was the last time he graced my sight," she said as if to herself. "The last time I would hear his voice or see his beautiful face. The last chance for my hope was ended on that grievous day." Nellas bowed her head mournfully and turned back to the princes, standing before them, dejected and alone.

"For that is when he left Doriath as I have heard his story told," said Elured as he came towards her.

"Yes," said Nellas, taking his hand. "He pursued his attacker through the woods until Saeros fell to his death in a ravine. And being afraid to take the blame for that death he fled our land...and he fled from me." She took Elurin's hand who had also come to her and they all looked up to the now darkened tree. A heavy silence permeated the grey woods as evening settled. "So passed Turin son of Hurin from my life," said Nellas. "He had grown into a grim and sullen young man who forgot me and the joys of his youth. And this tree has ever been a painful reminder of what I lost in him. That is why I could no longer come here after he left."

"But you have today Nellas and that is a good thing," said Elured. "There is healing in that, or at least the beginnings of it."

"Indeed," said Elurin. "And I would have you know that we shall never abandon or forget you. When I grow older and my princely duties take me away from the joys of my youth, ever shall I return to you, to tell you of my deeds and adventures. And if you will have me I would..."

Nellas interrupted him with a laugh that was long and gay. "Oh, but I am happy and lucky to have you two princes as my friends," she chimed as she kissed them both. She then looked about them and shook her head. "But look how late it is!" she exclaimed. "Never have we still been out at this hour. What will Lenwen say!"

"She will huff and puff her anger," said Elured with a smile. "but I shall take her many rebukes with ease as our truancy was worth it."

"You speak for me also," said a grinning Elurin. "For to see you conquer an old sorrow is reward enough for the scolding we are bound to receive."

"Perhaps it is," said Nellas in a soft tone as she stared again at the solemn tree. Tomorrow she would return to it and climb its long branches to look out again upon both the woods and the memories. And though the woods were bound to be the same, the memories she could now endure. Those visions of her past life would no longer be so hurtful to her. But was that not the experience of life. To have joys and endure sorrows along the way. She thought back to Luthien her dear friend. She had gone through glorious joys and terrible sorrows. But all had turned out right for her in the end. It was time for her to believe that for herself and let the shadow of Turin pass her by.

"Come," she said to the boys. "Let us go and face the scolding together."

Darkness settled over the forest of Neldoreth, and the winds changed direction and flowed southward, flying over the dark trees and hills of the land. Swiftly they reached the oaken borders and agitated the watchers who hid in their boughs. On the winds flowed, riling the waters of the Aros and rustling the grasslands beyond. Up now the winds swept, coiling the dark clouds that hung heavy in the sky. Through these they vented, until they broke free in fountains of curling vapour. Here the winds lost strength in the peaceful upper airs that flowed between a dazzling realm of star ridden night sky and wispy lands of grey valleys and towering mountainous forms below, all laced with shining silver. With a final effort, the dissipating winds reached up to cushion the great wings that were spread wide. The hawks did not appreciate nature's effort, for they had been upheld in the thin airs for long enough. At a call from Altarama their leader, they tucked in their wings and dove into the misty lands that floated beneath them, under which opened the skies above the dim woods of Doriath. Their eyes pierced the trees and their shadows, seeing and noting all for their master, whose army was still far away. But it was getting closer...

* * *

Author's Commentary:

Hie there. Here's the first chapter to Book Two of The Fall Of Doriath. It's a kind of _a day in the life of Doriath,_ where we get to see some of the different characters who are involved in one way or another in the story. Since I don't have the Silmarillion to guide the chapters now, it's a little difficult to fill in the blanks but I've given it a shot. As for the Nellas part, I've always wondered about how she felt about Turin and I thought she can have a sense of closure here.

Anyway, I hope as always that you enjoyed the chapter.

Thanx!


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